


For Your Eyes Only

by Tay



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abused Harry, Angst, Anxiety, Depressed Harry, Depression, Eating Disorders, Explicit Language, Fluff, Homophobic Language, Hurt Harry, Hurt Harry Styles, M/M, Panic Attacks, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Sad Harry, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 60,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tay/pseuds/Tay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's never told anyone what really goes on when he visits his father.  After all, he's still the same cheeky, happy boy that everyone remembers.  Through years of abuse, Harry has developed various ways of coping; music, writing, slicing his wrists, shoving two fingers down his throat.  He deserves it after all.  But Harry's too ashamed and disgusted to admit that underneath his dimpled smile and bright green eyes, he really is just damaged goods.  Broken, and ready to disappear at any moment.  And Louis might be the only light left in Harry's pathetic excuse for a life, and that's the terrifying truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is my first chaptered AO3 fic, so go with me. 
> 
> Warning: self harm, eating disorders, rape, homophobic language used. Do not read if triggered. 
> 
> If you need like a summary or anything of the chapter without any of the things mentioned above, just message me on my tumblr and I'll summarize if for you.
> 
> harrysdoll.tumblr.com

Harry is four the first time he sees his father hit his mom. 

The sound from the slap echoes hauntingly throughout the room as Harry hides in the hallway with his sister. They both jump in surprise as their mom goes clattering to the floor, her glass of wine shattering into a million pieces. Gemma gasps out loud, and Harry's first thought is that he should go help her, she is crying after all, and Harry’s mom always comes to help him when he’s crying. But Gemma is holding him back. She’s shaking her head no and dragging Harry back towards her bedroom. 

Harry holds his hands over his ears, trying to block out the yelling that's started. But it’s no use. Him and Gemma can both hear everything, even after the door is shut. Drunken slurs pierce Harry’s ears as he cuddles up to his sister, his knees pressed tightly against his chest, her arm around his small body. Tears are falling down his soft cheeks. He feels his breathing increase and he chokes on a silent sob. 

“Is mommy okay?” he asks, his voice quivering. Gemma just holds him tighter, her own tears trickling into Harry’s curls, but she doesn't answer. They stay like that for what feels like hours, until Harry finally drifts off, his head sliding into Gemma’s lap, his thumb sliding into his mouth. She strokes his hair soothingly, until their puffy eyed mother walks in quietly. Harry vaguely hears her whispering softly to Gemma, before he feels her arms wrap around him.

“Come on, baby,” she coos, lifting him off from the floor. He instantly wraps his small arms around her neck and lays his head on her shoulder. “Time for bed love,” she whispers again. Harry’s asleep before she puts him down. 

The next morning Harry wakes up to find boxes all around the house. He almost trips over one at the bottom of the stairs, his toe jabbing into the cardboard and his body flying forward. 

“Careful, love,” his mom says, hurrying over to make sure he was okay. Harry wipes his eyes groggily, he’s still in his pajamas and his thumb is lingering in his mouth. 

“All my toys are gone mummy,” he says. 

“They’re in the car, all packed up,” she soothes, giving his stubbed toe a kiss, and going back to the living room. 

“Why are my toys in the car?” he asks quietly. A knot forms in his stomach, as he thinks of what he could have done to get all his toys taken away. He doesn’t remember his mother telling him he was being punished, but then again he couldn’t be too sure. Maybe Harry did something wrong. Something horribly wrong and that's why his father was so upset last night.

“We’re leaving sweetie,” she says softly, still not paying Harry much attention. She’s grabbing books and pictures and unused candles off the shelves, shoving them hastily into a box. It’s Gemma that’s grabbing Harry’s hand and bringing him outside to their small car, loading entirely with their stuff. 

She buckles Harry in his carseat, and grabs a small stuffed animal from the back of the car she knows Harry loves. “Wait here,” she orders, not like he could get out of his carseat by himself anyway. “Mum and I will be right out.” 

Minutes later, they reemerge, carrying out the last few boxes and shoving them in the trunk. Gemma climbs in the front seat and their mom follows. 

Harry doesn’t ask questions during the ride. He sits quietly and clings to the stuffed elephant Gemma had given him. He’s been sucking his thumb a lot these past two days. It was a habit his mom had been trying to break in him for months. She was always reminding him not to do that anymore, but when she looks back at Harry in the rearview mirror, she doesn’t say a word. 

The new house is small and smells funny. Harry has his own room though. His mom asks him gently to unpack his new toys, which he does. He even organizes all his animals by name, leaving only his favorite rainbow stuffed dog out. It doesn’t take long. So when he’s finished, Harry sits shyly on the bed, his stomach in knots. He eventually walks into the living room, where he sees his mom talking on the phone. She’s got her hand over her mouth and she sounds sad. Which then makes Harry sad. He walks over and hugs her thigh, looking up at her puffy eyes. 

“One second, Julie,” his mom says. She cups the phone and leans down, putting on a smile. “All finished with your toys, love?” she asks. Harry nods, a tear falling down his cheek. “Good boy, why don’t you go see if your sister needs any help.” 

Harry lets go of his mom’s leg and nods, even though all he wants to do is stay with his mother. He wishes she would hold him like she usually does when he’s sad. But Harry doesn’t argue. He mopes slowly to the bedroom across from his. 

Gemma looks just as miserable. She’s sitting on the floor of her room, sticking her hand in the box in front of her and pulling whatever she grasps out. 

“Mummy says to help you,” Harry says quietly, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her. 

“You don’t have to Harry,” she says. 

“I know, but I don’t want to be alone,” he admits softly. 

So Gemma doesn’t argue. She doesn’t even yell at Harry when he puts her books in the wrong order, like she used to at home. Well their old home, Harry supposes. He doesn’t know if he should be happy or sad about that. 

It isn’t until around six or seven that night when their mom finally comes into Gemma’s room. She tells them how good everything looks, smiling at Harry and Gemma. 

“Thanks mum,” Gemma says. 

“Why don’t you two come out here, and we’ll all talk,” she suggests, lifting Harry up off from the floor. He’s glad when his mom sets him right in her lap. He wanted to be close to her. He let’s his head fall against her chest and she wraps an arm around him tightly. 

She explains what divorce means carefully and enough so even Harry finally understands. 

“What about daddy though?” Harry asks. “Is he gone?”

“Well don’t worry love, you can visit him. Mommy and Daddy just won’t be living in the same house,” she explains. “It’ll all be alright. It doesn't change how we feel about you two. Your father and I still love you both.” 

And with his head pressed against her chest Harry actually believes her. Why wouldn’t he? His mother had never lied to him until that day, after all. 

 

________________

 

Harry is seven the first time his father hits him. 

It was a Sunday night and Harry was up much later than he should have been on a school night. He was laying in bed, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. His father had just moved again, into a new apartment, and Harry laid on a mattress with no bed frame on the floor next to Gemma. She was sound asleep. He could almost make out her soft features from the light shining through the open window. Harry had his stuffed dog pressed tightly against his chest and he tried to block out the noise from the TV in the living room. Eventually though, Harry got up, and poked his head outside the door. His father was on the couch, watching sports on the telly. 

Harry scooted out in the hall, and sat quietly next to his father. 

His father was different since their mom left. And Harry never knew what to expect. Sometimes he’s happy. Like when he first picks up Harry and Gemma from school. Sometimes he runs up with a big smile on his face and hugs them both so tight. Sometimes he orders pizza for dinner and even let’s Harry have two slices. 

But then sometimes his eyes get all dark and his breath smells like poison. Sometimes he starts to slur his words and gets really grumpy, especially at Harry. 

“What’re you doing up?” he asked him. 

“I can’t sleep,” Harry says quietly. 

His father doesn’t say anything to comfort him. Instead he just hands Harry his empty beer bottle. 

“Well make yourself useful and go get me another bottle,” he mutters. Harry obeys, and makes his way to the kitchen. Harry leaves the empty bottle on the table and opens the fridge to grab another. He tries, unsuccessfully, to unscrew the cap. It’s too tight. Harry tries again, using the base of his shirt for a better grip. He hopes if he does what his father asks, maybe his smile will come back. So, he pulls hard against the cap. Instead of opening, the bottle slips from his hand and shatters to the floor, it’s contents and glass spilling everywhere. Harry stares wide-eyed at the mess he’s made and his heart stops. Harry’s dad doesn’t like messes when he’s mad. 

He hears his father stagger into the kitchen. 

“What did you do?” 

“I didn’t mean to-“ Harry begins, afraid to move. 

“Fucking idiot,” his father yells, shoving Harry to the side. “Clean it up.” 

Harry nods, looking around the kitchen for a broom and dustpan. 

“Now, Jesus Christ,” his father snaps. 

“I just- I just was looking-“ Harry stammers, he wonders why he’s having such a hard time forming the words. “I was just looking for a dustpan.” 

“Just use your fucking hands,” he orders. 

“But mum says I shouldn’t touch broken glass,” Harry says quietly. 

“Excuse me?” his father says, his voice going quiet.

“Mom says-“

And with that, Harry sees a blur of his father’s raised hand, and then feels a slap across the face. His cheek burns and his head whips to the side. He stays like that, his hair covering his face (and tears, hopefully). 

Harry is used to some of the hurtful glares and words tossed at him by his father when he’s angry, but he had never, ever hit Harry like this.

“I don’t give a fuck what your mother says, this is my house. Therefore you listen to me.” Harry has a hard time understanding the slew of barely audible words his father threw out, but he nods, his breathing increasing and his heart beating at an uncontrollable rate. 

“You understand?” 

Harry nods harder. 

“Look at me.”

Harry looks up, tears falling uncontrollably down his face. 

“Are you crying?” his father slurs, laughing slightly. “I can’t believe Anne’s raising such a fucking faggot. You outta come by here a little more, boy, maybe there’s still a chance I can make a man out of you.” 

Harry nods again, and starts picking up the glass all over the floor. He doesn’t have anywhere to put it, so he collects as much of it as he can in his hand before going to throw it in the trash. He only cuts his hands twice. 

Harry's father wakes him up before his alarm goes off for school. He rubs his eyes groggily, about to ask what's going on before he seems his father pressing his pointer finger against his lip, indicating for Harry to be quiet. 

Harry follows him out into the hallway, his stomach still churning from the events of last night. He rubs his cheek, feeling that it was still sore. 

Once the bedroom door is shut, so as not to wake Gemma, Harry's father squats down to his level and looks him straight in the eye. His voice goes low. “If you ever tell anyone what happened last night, I will make sure you never say another word again. Do you understand?”

Harry nods feebly.

“Great!” his voice changes instantly. How about some pancakes for breakfast this morning? He ruffles Harry’s hair and heads off to the kitchen.

Harry is sent to the principles office the next day for falling asleep in class. He really didn’t mean to, but after twenty minutes of geography, his eyes just felt so heavy, and before he knew it, he was waking up to snickers and a very angry looking Mrs. Bertrand.

His mom picked him up early and he stares groggily out the window. 

“Were you not paying attention?” she asks. 

“I tried to,” he says quietly, “I was just really tired.”

“Did you not get enough sleep at dads again?”

Harry shakes his head. “He put me to bed early like you asked. I just couldn’t fall asleep.”

“Did you ask him to read to you? I know that always helps.”

Harry shakes his head no. “He was busy.” 

“We’ll get you to bed early tonight, okay?” She says softly. And Harry just nods. When he flips his hands over, his mum sees the band aids he has stuck around his cut fingers, she asks him about it. For a moment he thinks about telling her the truth, but then he finds himself saying, “I was playing outside and cut myself.” She smiles fondly and nods her head. “Be more careful, you.” She reaches across the console and squeezes his thigh. His hand throbbing from the cuts and his jaw still tingling from his father’s hand. But he doesn’t say anything further. He just stares out the window, wondering if it’s just him or if the world was actually a shade grayer than he remembered. He doesn’t know why he doesn't just tell his mom what had happened. Then he figures that she probably wouldn’t have believed him, that his dad would probably just deny everything, or maybe she’d think he deserved it, that he had spilled his father's beers so he deserved to be punished. That feeling cuts into Harry and seeps through his bloodstream, flooding his entire body. As time goes on, Harry's instinct becomes assuming that he has done something wrong, that he deserves every bad thing that ever happens to him. 

________________

 

Harry is thirteen the first time he cuts himself on purpose. 

He saw it on a show once and couldn't imagine how slicing one's own skin could ever solve anything. But one day, his father’s voice won't stop echoing in his head. Worthless, fat, ugly, faggot, useless, annoying, faggot, faggot, faggot. And Harry just wants it to stop. He remembers the show. Remembers how relieved the girl had looked after he cut himself and all Harry wants is to feel something, really. So he walks robotically into the bathroom and cracked open one of his father's razors. For a moment, he's afraid it might hurt. But he hears it again. Too much baggage. Gross. Boring. And he presses the blade into his skin. Blood oozes out and he stares in awe as the red stream drips down his arm. He doesn’t even try to stop it, he just stares as it until it drips to the floor. 

Things has gotten increasingly worse between Harry and his father. Slaps and shoves have become routine. Demeaning comments too. Ever since Harry was seven, the bad days far outnumbered the good ones. His father drank almost daily. Harry sunk to the bathroom floor, holding out his arm and dragging the blade across his skin again. A straight line of red appears and Harry just watches, his face sunken and emotionless as the blood slowly dripped out. I deserve this. Harry thinks. Because it’s true. Harry always fucks up. Always. Last week he left the juice out and this morning his clothes looked too gay. And he was right, what was Harry thinking? So he cuts again. And he punishes himself. This cut for being too stupid. This cut for being too gay. This cut for being ugly. This cut for being fat. This cut for being worthless. And he continues. 

________________

Harry is fifteen the first time he wants to die.

He's in the bathroom at his father's flat, digging out the razor he has hidden in the back of the drawer. He peels his jumper up past the crease of his elbow and looks at the dark marks that have collected on his arm over the last two years. There's room for more, Harry thinks, as he presses the blade into his skin. It burns, but the pain is irrelevant. Just like him. He deserves this. Harry jumps when he hears the door swing open, his heart sinks in his chest. His father towers above him, staring down at the broken boy on the floor. His eyes are dulled, and he's wearing the look on his face that Harry recognizes as him not being all there. He's been drinking, heavily by the looks of it. 

When he sees the mess on Harry’s arm he just shakes his head. 

“Such an attention whore,” he grumbles. He reaches down and grabs ahold of Harry’s wrist and pulling him to his feet. Harry winces as his father's fingers dig tightly into his wounds. Harry waits for a punch or slap. But that doesn't happen. Instead his father releases his grip, then slowly turns around and closed the door, carefully locking it. 

When he turns back to Harry, he's biting his lip. Harry’s stomach churns. 

“Take 'em off,” he says.

“What-“ Harry stammers. 

“I said, take 'em off,” he stammers, harsher this time. 

Harry sees his father motioning towards Harry's bottom half. He fights back the urge to vomit, but slowly manages to get his fingers to work as he undoes his belt and slides off his jeans. Harry tries to think coherently through the fear radiating through his body, wondering what was going on. Why his father wanted to see Harry's thighs. He wonders if he's looking for cuts there. But Harry had none, only on his wrists. Possibilities were going through his mind, but he thinks, definitely not, that couldn’t be it. Harry clenches his teeth together. 

“Boxers too,” his father says. 

Harry's stomach drops another level, slowly realizing what might be happening. He obeys. 

“Now, turn around,” his father ordered. 

Harry swallows back an sudden influx of bile, his throat dry and raw, but he does was he's told. His father grips Harry's shoulders tightly, his fingerprints surely leaving bruises. Harry hears shuffling behind him. Harry feels his father pull his cheeks apart before something grazes his backside. It wasn’t until Harry felt something push inside of him that he cried out. 

“Shut up,” his father ordered, putting his rough, calloused hand over Harry’s mouth tightly. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and put his hands against the wall, bracing himself. 

His father huffed and groaned behind Harry as he shoved himself mercilessly inside of him. 

All Harry felt was pain. Searing pain, like he was being split in two. Like his entire body was on fire.

It doesn’t take long thankfully. His father gets sloppy and finally, is filling him up and pulling out. Harry cries out again at the pain. His bum is sore. He won’t be able to walk tomorrow. "See that?" his father grunts, "Not so pure anymore. Now who's gonna love ya?" 

Harry stood frozen in place, teary eyed, too scared to move, as his father did up his pants, his cum dripping down Harry's leg. It felt like eternity before he heard the door creak open and his father leave, but not before gripping the back of his neck and shaking him lightly, “tell anyone and I’ll do the same to Gemma and your mother.”

When Harry heard the door shut, he locked it quickly. 

Harry let's himself fall back to the floor, shaking violently. No one, was the answer to his father's question. No one was going to love him. 

________________

 

Harry is sixteen the first time he makes himself throw up. 

He is sitting at the dinner table with his father and Gemma. His father ordered a massive pizza as a sort of celebration. Gemma was leaving for college the next day. And Harry couldn’t help but feel happy for the first time in a while. This was like his father before all the drinking. He's actually sober tonight. And Harry knows it won’t last, but he doesn’t care. His father is smiling at Gemma as she talks cheerfully about how nervous she was, but excited at the same time. And Harry just doesn’t care, he’s actually happy. 

Harry reaches for his third piece of pizza, placing it carefully on his plate. He was wearing a long-sleeve sweater that was sure to cover the scars littering his wrists. He gazes hungrily at the slice, devouring it quickly. 

His father payed little attention to him throughout the night, and instead chatted happily away with Gemma about how much he knows she’ll love university and how proud he is of her. 

Gemma was presumably just as surprised as Harry about the aura of joy in the house. Their father never hit Gemma like he did Harry. He never punished her like he did Harry. But she knew about what a monster he could be. Not to the extent that Harry did, of course, but she'd been on the receiving end of his brutal slurs and harsh temper. She remembers the day he struck their mother, too. Probably better than Harry ever will. Harry doubts she'll ever fully forgive him for that. Doubts she'll ever trust him. Sometimes Harry finds himself feeling slightly jealous of Gemma. She's never felt the strike of their father's palm against her cheek. She's never been kicked in the stomach until she's gagging and gasping for air. She's never been thrown up against a wall and violated so severely, that death must surely be better. But those thoughts don't last for long, because Gemma was by far the best person Harry knew. She was kind and genuine and arguably the only one good enough to put up with Harry and all his shit. She never put him down or made him feel uncomfortable around her. He was willing to take the brunt of his father's aggression if it meant Gemma would be safe from it. She often complained of their father to Harry. Whenever he was in one of his drunken rages the two always used to wait out the storm in her bedroom. Gemma would sit with her back pressed against the wall and tears in her eyes, her knees tucked tightly to her chest, and she'd talk about how excited she was to go off to university, how she couldn't wait to never come home again. And Harry would listen but say nothing. Harry would never admit that the only thing running through his mind would be, don't go, please don't go. Over and over again. Gemma was often the only thing standing between Harry and a beating or punishment. If Gemma wasn't around, Harry feared things between him and his father would get even worse. He'd have no one to talk to anymore. No one to confide in. It was selfish to think like that, but then again, Harry's father had already told him about how selfish he was. Harry couldn't help it. 

Gemma dumped her dirty plate in the sink and pushed past Harry, giving his shoulder one last reassuring squeeze, before going to bed for the night. Harry cleared his throat and was about to stand up when his father turned his attention towards him. Harry was in the midst of wiping his face with a napkin, the cruel words and shift in mood taking him off guard. 

“How many pieces of pizza did you eat?” he growled.

Harry pauses, the used napkin crumpling in his hand before answering, “Three.”

“Didn’t think you were going to leave any for your sister or I,” he snarls. “Starting to get a bit of a gut there too, aren’t ya? A chub like yourself should start watching what he eats.”

The words sunk deep to Harry’s core. Despite the uncomfortable, swelling feeling of his stomach, Harry felt so small and shrunken into his seat. He looked down and couldn’t help but notice his father was right. His stomach was pushing against his belt and his thighs felt a little tight in his jeans. 

“Do the dishes.” His father orders before strutting with a new beer to the living room. 

Harry did, and in a hurry too, trying to ignore how full and uncomfortable he felt. He practically sprinted to the bathroom when he was finished. He didn't even think twice before doubling over the toilet, shoving two fingers down his throat, and emptying the contents of his stomach into the bowl. 

________________

 

Harry is eighteen the first time he lies to his mother about where he’s going. 

At first he feels horrible. He’s twisting the sleeves of his over-sized jumper between his fingers as he waits for a cab. At one point, he almost says screw it to the whole thing and just walks back home. But the more he thinks about the concert ticket sitting just inside of his pocket, the less guilty he feels. 

The 1975 were playing a gig in their hometown of Manchester, just forty five minutes from him, and Harry had gone online with his new credit card and bought a ticket. Just one. He didn’t have too many friends, let alone ones with the same music taste as him. So after a lot of convincing and persuasion, he finally settled on buying just one ticket. He played with the end of his sleeve the whole way to the venue. 

It’s not like Harry’s mum wouldn’t have let him go, she trusts Harry and knows how much he loves music. But in all honesty, Harry was embarrassed by the idea of going alone. He would of had to give his mother the details: who he was going with, how he was getting there, when he’d return. And something about admitting to his mother that he had no friends didn’t settle well. So when she asked what he had planned for the night, Harry lied. 

Harry regretted going alone the second he's off the train. As he filed past numerous groups of teenagers in dark clothing and excited grins, he had the realization that he might just be the only person here without a companion. His stomach turned as the knot inside it twisted a little tighter. People were probably staring, probably thinking about what a loser he was. Harry tried to kept his head down, letting his shaggy curls fall into his face, providing at least somewhat of a curtain between him and everyone else. 

Harry wasn’t in his seat for more than three minutes before he realized a trip to the toilets was needed. Between his excitement for the concert and anxiety about being judged, his bladder had grown increasingly uncomfortable. He apologized as he swept past the lane of people once again, before finally escaping the crowd. 

The bathrooms were surprisingly empty. Harry was in one of the stalls almost done his wee when he heard the doors swing open. It sounded like two lads entering. 

“You better be quick, you twat, I swear if I miss one second of this concert just because you can’t hold your damn pee-“

“Calm down, Liam!” the other voice says. “We’ve got at least twenty minutes before they go on. Besides, you don’t even know who this band is!” And then the stall door slams. Harry quickly zips up his pants and flushes. 

He’s gazing at a tall, broad looking boy with brown hair when he opens the stall door. He has his hands stuffed in his pocket and he’s tapping his feet anxiously. He gives Harry a quick nod before looking back towards his phone. 

Harry rolls his sleeve up only enough so they don’t get wet to wash his hands. He knows better than to roll them up far enough for anyone to notice what he’s hiding. 

Suddenly the boy bangs on the stall door, “What're you doing in there, Tommo?” 

“Shut up you twat!” The other boys says, followed by a flush. Suddenly, the laughter of the other boy fills the air. He’s shorter than Harry, with black, tight jeans and light brown hair that's styled back. He flies out of the stall laughing hysterically, almost doubled over. 

“The bloody toilet splashed me!” he yells, showing his friend small speckles of water on his shirt. Harry watches through the mirror in front of him, watches as the boy's eyes sort of crinkle as he chuckles, almost as if his laugh is too big for his face to hold. 

“Jesus Lou- how fucking old are you?“ the boys says. He's trying to act annoyed, but Harry can sense the tint of laughter consuming his words. Harry wonders why he's trying to hide it. He's obviously very fond of the other boy. 

“Don’t patronize me Liam," the boy says sarcastically. "Oh, hello-“ he suddenly says. His eyes make contact with Harry's through the mirror and they immediately soften, his laughter subsides. 

Harry smiles shyly, and grabs some paper towels off the shelf. He waits half a second before suddenly handing them to the boy. He smiles gratefully, dabbing his shirt with them. And Harry is damn near pretty positive that that was the prettiest smile he’s ever seen. 

“Thanks, mate.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Harry says quietly. His eyes linger on the boy for a few seconds too long. He can’t help but admit how fit he actually is. His jeans fitting perfectly over his thick legs, his shirt clinging tightly to his torso. 

“You pumped?” The boy asks. 

“scuse me?” Harry says, tearing his eyes away from the boy’s body and meeting his gaze. And god, those eyes, Harry’s pretty near sure that half the poetry he’s read in school has been about those eyes. Harry shakes his head, trying to bring himself back to reality. 

“For the show, I mean,” the boy says, still flashing his wide smile. 

“Oh yeah, of course,” Harry says, smiling back. Harry’s didn’t quite reach his eyes like the other boys' though. “You’re a big fan then?” he adds, speaking to both boys this time. 

“Who, this joker? I practically had to drag Liam here along.” The smaller boy notions towards his friend. Harry looks back towards him. Liam shrugs slightly, chuckling softly. 

“Just not a big indie rocker, I guess,” Liam mutters, “what can I say? Louis isn’t a big fan either, just wanted something to do for the night, isn’t that right?”

Louis. Harry looked back to the boy and said his name over and over in his head. Louis. Louis. Louis. 

“Well at least I’ll pretend to enjoy myself while we’re here.”

“You’ll like them,” Harry piped up. “They’re really good.”

“Excellent, I’m sure it’ll be great,” Louis says with a smile. “Where are your seats?” 

“I’m like towards the right, not quite up on the second platform, but close.”

“Ah, we’re towards the left, you see? Was hoping maybe we’d be nearby. Then you could whisper the lyrics in my ear so then maybe I'd have a chance at singing along. I’d be like a proper fan then!”

Something churns in Harry’s stomach as he imagines whispering lyrics and comments in Louis’ ear all night. Faggot. He hears his father yell inside his head. 'What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you honestly staring at another boy right now? Such a fucking queer, always knew it too.' Harry cringes at the harsh words, but knows his father is right. Thinking this way about a boy is wrong. He’ll have to punish himself later, he thinks, picturing the razor hidden in his cabinet. 

“You could always text them to me though, right?” Louis pipes up. 

Harry swears he hears Liam groan from across the room. 

Harry hesitates. But suddenly, Louis' hopefully eyes silence the words in his head. "Yeah,” Harry answers. There’s nothing wrong with texting a boy, right? Just friends of course. Louis obviously thought the same thing. Just friends. Harry takes the boy’s phone in his hands and types his number in.

“I’m Louis by the way.”

“Harry,” he says, and extends his arm out to shake with Louis. He gives Louis back his phone and can’t help but notice the small smile that crosses his face when he sees the little smiley face Harry just so happened to put next to his name. 

Louis looks up, completely catching Harry staring at him. Harry’s about to look down, embarrassed and ashamed for staring when Louis offers the slightest, sly smile. 

“Alright, well ready Lou?” Liam asks. 

Harry is, once again, snapped back into reality. He almost forgot the other boy was even in the room. 

Harry almost trips twice on the way back to his seat. He steps on one girls toe and mutters an apology, although he’s positive she doesn’t hear. 

Harry sits down just as his phone buzzes in his pocket. 

Louis (7:05pm) Just wanted to make sure you gave me the right number. -Louis

A smile spreads across Harry’s face as he’s immediately typing back. 

Harry (7:05pm) Of course I did!

Harry’s heart flutters when he sees that Louis has immediately opened his message. His response comes soon after. 

Louis (7:06pm) :) so what songs should I be looking forward to?

Harry (7:07pm) they’re all good! 

Louis (7:08 pm) Alright, alright I believe you ;) 

It’s just then that the lights dim and the crowd goes wild. Harry’s practically jumping out from his seat to get a look at the stage. The 1975’s signature boxes appear in a lit up neon pink color and soon, Harry sees four silhouettes come onto the stage. Harry screams along with everyone else. One chord in and he’s gone, lost in the music and the thrill of it all. He’s jumping up and down, singing along to every song and forgetting the fact that he came alone. He’s always loved music of course, every aspect of it, but he hadn’t realized how much it all meant to him and how much he relied on it until he was standing there, eyes closed, listening to the music all around him, the people singing and dancing along. He needs it, would probably die without it.

When the music fades and the band bids their farewell, Harry is still buzzing. He is physically shaking in his seat, trying not to be so excited, but he can’t help it. It isn’t until all the lights in the venue are on and almost everyone has shuffled out that Harry finally feels confident enough in his shaky legs to walk out. 

He’s humming ‘Chocolate’ to himself when he hears a familiar voice. 

“Harry!”

Harry spins around and sees a grinning Louis followed by a smiling Liam. 

“Hello!” Harry calls walking over. “What’d you think?”

“That was amazing!!” Louis says. His hair is all messed up and his eyes are wild. 

Liam nods in agreement, “Really, really great show, you’ve got great taste mate!” 

Harry is beaming. “I’m so glad you liked it,” and he means that. Because it isn’t often that Harry finds someone that actually likes what he listens to. 

“Absolutely brilliant,” Louis says. “Couldn’t understand half of what they said, but you know, who cares? The music was incredible.” He pauses, “Your mate getting the car?” 

“What? Oh-“ Harry starts. He quickly wonders if he should lie. Tell them his friend, or friends even, went to get the car. But without much more hesitation, instead Harry blurts out, “No, I came alone actually.”

“Oh, taking a taxi then?” Louis says. 

Harry’s surprised that neither of the boys comment on the fact that he’s at a concert alone. Harry assumes they’re just being polite. Don’t want to point out that Harry has no friends. They’re all thinking it though, must be. Isn’t it like the weirdest thing in the world to go to a concert by yourself? Why didn’t Louis think that was weird?

“Yeah,” Harry mutters. He shoves his hand in his pocket awkwardly. 

“We’ll give you a ride, mate,” Liam says. 

“No, no, no,” Harry insists. “I'm from Cheshire- it's out of the way.”

“Nonsense,” Louis pipes up, slinging his arm around Harry. Harry flinches slightly, just a reaction. He’s surprised by it. If Louis noticed, he didn’t comment. Liam, however, gives Harry a strange look. It fades quickly though. 

“Yeah, Louis’ right, nonsense, come with us, my car’s just around here,” he points to the back parking lot. 

Harry hesitates, but is finally persuaded. He hops in with the two other boys. 

Harry files out back, slipping to the middle seat. Louis sits up front, still practically bobbing up and down in his seat. 

“Hey, do you have their album on your phone?” he asks, turning around to face Harry. 

“Um yeah, actually, why?”

“Can I see?”

Harry hands Louis his phone with no hesitation and Louis plugs it into an AUX cord connecting to Liam’s radio. Louis skips around Harry’s music, never quite able to fully finish a song before he clicks the next. He sticks with the 1975 though, and he’s trying so hard to sing the lyrics. He has trouble but tries anyway. Harry can’t help but admire what a beautiful voice Louis has. 

Liam just laughs at Louis, and keeps calling him a knob head every time Louis messes up a word. Harry thinks it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. 

“You have so much music,” Louis says in awe after a while. 

Harry shrugs out back, “Yeah, I like a lot of different stuff, I guess.”

“I don’t even know what half this shit is, but yeah I can tell,” Louis says laughing. 

Louis skips around, moving from the 1975 to Fleetwood Mac to Coldplay. He thinks they’re quite good. Harry can’t help but feel embarrassed though as Louis starts asking him who some of the different artists are. Harry’s not sure why, but he’s always felt self-conscious about things he likes. His father’s always putting him down if he ever tries to talk about a new song he’s heard or a new concert in town. He always tells Harry, “no one cares.” Which leaves Harry to wonder why Louis does. 

Why is Louis bothering to ask Harry about these stupid, one track, bands? 

After about fifteen minutes of driving Louis announces how hungry he is. 

“No, I can’t wait, Liam. I’m withering away,” he says dramatically. “Do you mind stopping, Harry?” he asks, turning around. 

Harry shakes his head, although he isn’t thinking about much else besides how good his name sounds coming from Louis’ mouth. 

They stop at some shady burger place and Harry hates himself when all he can notice on the menu is the calories in each item. 800, 1000, 1200, Harry cringes. That’s more than Harry eats in a day, let alone a single meal. 

Louis orders this massive triple patty burger with extra pickles and ketchup. Liam gets some chicken nuggets and fries. And Harry shudders as he orders a cheeseburger. It’s okay. He keeps telling himself. You’ll just purge later. No big deal. 

Harry finally forces himself to take the first bite after Louis is almost done with his burger. He takes a few more before he feels his stomach growing increasingly full. 

“You not hungry?” he asks, his mouth full. 

Harry shakes his head, “Not really, ate before I came,” he lies. He’s only had a grapefruit for lunch. 

But he sets his burger down. Disgusted with himself for eating it.

Liam, it turns out, is the slowest eater in the world. It takes him over twenty minutes to finish his ten nuggets and fries before they’re back in the car. 

Harry gives him the final directions to his house and within half an hour, Harry is saying a thousand thank you’s to the boys. 

“Anytime, mate!” Liam says. 

“Alright, well, I guess I’ll see you guys later?” Harry says shyly, knowing he’ll probably never see them again. 

“Definitely!” Liam says. Louis is surprisingly quiet, however as Harry starts to walk away he calls out. 

“Wait!” 

Harry turns around, almost too-desperately, and looks back. 

“We’re having this get together at Liam and I’s flat this weekend, wanna come?”

A smile erupts across Harry’s face and he nods without hesitation. “Yeah, I’d love to, yeah, thanks.”

“I’ll just text you then?” Louis asks hopefully. 

“Looking forward to it,” Harry says smiling even wider before walking inside his house, wondering what the hell just happened. 

He’s told his mother not to wait up for him, I’m eighteen now mom, gosh. So the house is completely quiet when he enters. He goes straight to his room, closing the door quietly and stripping his shirt off from him. 

He’s got it halfway over his head when's phone goes off. 

Louis (11:02pm) Still buzzing from the concert, Liam wont be excited w me :(

Harry smiles at the text. 

Harry (11:03pm) hahah, it was a great show wasn’t it?? 

Louis (11:05pm) THE BEST!! :) 

Harry (11:09pm) Can’t wait for this weekend either btw :)

He feels stupid sending that. God damn, he sounded so desperate. Louis was going to think he was a desperate. He cringed. Louis doesn’t respond. Harry just sits holding his phone gingerly. Then he starts to think. What if Louis just invited him to be nice? God, of course he just invited Harry to be nice. He didn’t actually want him there. Liam was probably cussing Louis out for even being nice about it. 

Louis (11:16pm) Ahhh, me either, I’m so happy you’re coming :)

Harry stiffens as he reads the words. I’m so happy you’re coming. He smiles widely. Louis and Harry text for the next hour and a half. Until Harry’s eyes are so droopy that he falls asleep mid conversation. He forgets all about purging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading xoxo


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for this chapter include physical abuse and homophobic language.

The next three days drag on agonizingly slow for Harry. He keeps in touch with Louis though, probably more than two boys who just met each other should. Harry doesn’t really care. He loves talking with Louis. It’s his favorite part of the day, which is silly considering they barely even know each other. But even Harry’s mother notices the way his face lights up every time his phone vibrates, which is really something, considering his mum doesn’t notice much of anything anymore. 

They chat a lot about music. Harry’s learned that Louis’ favorite band is The Fray. Harry talks about all the music he likes, Louis promises to listen. Louis also talks a lot about school, how his semester will be ending in a few weeks, and that he hopes he’s passing all of his classes. They talk about anything, really. Harry has never tried harder at texting, never wanted to keep a conversation going more in his life. But it’s working, because him and Louis have been texting pretty much constantly since the night of The 1975 concert. 

Louis is different. He’s loud and vibrant and always energetic.

He quickly learns Louis is twenty, and in his third year of uni in Manchester. He's got four younger sisters (Harry had gasped at that one) that lived at home with his mum and step dad in Doncaster, and Louis always talked about how much he missed them when he was away at school.

Harry is in the middle of pushing his food around his plate when his phone actually rings. Louis’ name pops up. 

“May I be excused?” he asks immediately, ignoring the uneaten meal in front of him. 

His mom gives him a cheeky grin before nodding. 

Harry scoots out of his chair and rushes to his bedroom. “Hello?” he says, out of breath, because Louis was actually calling him. 

“Hey Harry!” Louis voice booms through the line. Harry hopes that there’s a big smile spread over his face, imagines what it might look like if he was here instead. He thinks of every detail he can, every crinkle and every crease he can recall from Louis’ face. “how are ya, love?” he asks. Harry’s heart flutters when Louis calls him love, but he tries to ignore it. 

“I’m good, what’s up?”

“Well I know I invited you over Saturday-“ Louis pauses and Harry immediately thinks, ‘this is it. He’s going to un-invite me. I knew it was a mistake’. “But I just couldn’t wait I guess, was just wondering if you’d like to come over Friday night too? We could all go to the bar, got some friends you have to meet! And then you can just sleep over?”

Harry almost chokes. 

“Really?”

Louis laughs, “I mean, only if you want to.”

“Yeah,” Harry blurts out. “Yeah of course!” 

“Perfect! See you tomorrow then!”

Harry rejoins his mother in the kitchen. She’s still eating from her plate. 

“Who was that?” she asks, trying not to sound too intrusive, but Harry knows how curious she’s been to find out who he’s been texting. 

“My friend, Louis. Just invited me over tomorrow night and Saturday, just to hang out, or whatever,” Harry adds on the whatever to seem more casual. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at your dad’s this weekend, love?” she asks, setting her fork down. 

Harry’s heart immediately sinks. Shit. It was his father’s weekend. Harry hated his father’s weekends, for obvious reasons. But would never admit that to his mother. The idea of her knowing what a fuck up he is, made him cringe. He couldn’t let his mother see that side of him. 

“You’ll just have to ask him if you can go,” she says softly. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Harry smiles. It’s fake. She’s right, of course his father didn’t care if he was there or not. But the idea of him asking his father if he could spend the night at another boy’s house was mortifying, laughable even. Harry can’t imagine what his father would think of that. ‘What’re you faggots going to do? Shag all night? God, Anne raised such a queer’. 

Despite only taking a few bites of his mashed potatoes, Harry feels uncomfortably full. He dumps his plate in the trash before locking himself in the bathroom. Harry turns the shower and sink on, to block out the noise of him purging in the toilet. He doubles over the toilet and shoves his two fingers down his throat. At first, nothing comes up. He just gags a little. But he wiggles his fingers around, until he finally throws up. He has to purge twice before he finally feels empty. 

When he’s finished, he strips and gets in the shower. He massages his scalp, letting the shampoo consume his curls. But when he’s finished washing, he just stands there for a while, letting the hot water burn his skin. His hands travel to his stomach, which seems especially large today. He pinches the fat on his sides, wonders what he has to do to just make it all go away. He thinks about what he’s going to say to Louis. 

Harry’s finger hesitates over the call back button once he’s dressed in an oversized jumper and some sweatpants. They’re two sizes too big for him, but Harry likes it. It makes him feel smaller. He takes three deep breaths before daring to press the call button. The phone rings twice before he hears Louis’ voice answer. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, Lou,” Harry starts. 

“Hey Harry,” Louis says laughing, “Missed me already, eh?” he teased. 

Harry chuckles nervously before getting right to the point, “I forgot I can’t come this weekend,” he says. 

“Oh,” Louis says quietly. 

“Yeah, I just have this family thing going,” which isn’t entirely a lie, right? “and I just forgot about it, till my mum just reminded me, sorry.”

“Okay, then,” Louis says, his voice clearly dropping. Harry couldn’t wait to get off the phone, his stomach is in knots. He feels like he wouldn’t need his two fingers to be sick this time. He mutters another apology before quickly hanging up. And if Harry felt horrible about going to his father’s, it was nothing compared to how shitty he felt about bailing on Louis. 

“Stupid, stupid,” Harry muttered to himself, throwing his phone on his bed. It bounces a few times on his duvet. He’s itching at his sleeves, the anxiety from the phone call still lingering. Louis sounded so disappointed. Louis was definitely disappointed. Probably hated Harry. 

Horrible truths ran through Harry’s head. ‘No wonder you haven’t gotten any friends, you make plans and always bail on them, what the fuck is wrong with you?’

His wrists itched as he made his way back to the bathroom. He’s pulling at his curls, his wrists, his sleeves, trying to find his grip back in the real world. It’s no use. Harry’s mind is already too far gone. His thoughts are clouded by thick anxiety and hatred. The mirrors were still steamy from his hot shower. Harry locked the door and sank to the floor, grasping his razor in his hand. He shoved his sleeve up anxiously. When he finally dug the blade into his wrist, his chest relaxed a bit. Harry could breathe again. He focused on the dark line forming on his forearm, watched as a droplet of blood spilled down his wrist. He sighed as he watched it. He cut once, twice, three times more before finally putting the blade away and emerging from the bathroom. His arm was bundled up and his sleeve was pulled back down. 

When Harry checked his phone there was a message from Louis. 

Louis (8:37pm) Anyway you’re free Monday or Tuesday?

Harry stares at his screen for a while, not opening the message, not wanting Louis to know he’s purposely not responding. Harry knows he should just tell Louis no. He’s not free, he’ll never be free. He shouldn’t drag Louis into the horror that is his life, should keep a distance, because he knows there’s no way this is going to end well. 

But instead, Harry decides to be selfish. He is selfish, after all. His father always tells him so. 

Harry (8:50pm) I’m free Monday 

Louis (8:50pm) So you want to hang out then?

Harry (8:51pm) Yeah 

Louis (8:53pm) Sick, see you then :) Have a good weekend, Haz!! :) 

 

_______________

 

Harry’s dad picks him up Friday afternoon. 

“What’s up, kid?” he says as Harry slides into the front seat. 

“Hey, not much,” Harry replies, smiling as he shoves his backpack into the backseat of the car. 

His father was sober. Which was good news for Harry. 

“Thought we could grab some dinner before heading back to the flat, yeah?”

“Sounds good, yeah,” Harry says, adding a nod. 

His dad picks a stingy bar for them to eat at. There’s about eight different television sets hung up around the bar, all hosting a different sporting event. Harry’s never been into sports, but it makes sense why his father picked this place. They sit at a small, round table. Harry thinks one of the legs must be shorter than the rest because it’s very wobbly and unsteady. A waitress comes by with a pitcher of water for the two of them. She smiles kindly at Harry, her dark hair reaching just past her shoulders. She’s pretty, Harry smiles back. She takes their order. Harry reluctantly orders a veggie burger and some fries, but he knows he’ll definitely be needing a to-go box. He cringes when his father pulls the waitress aside, and orders beer. 

“You want one?” he asks Harry, who is currently in the middle of pouring himself water. 

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“Oh come on, you can have a beer with your dad,” his father says, then, before Harry can answer, tells the waitress, “two beers.”

She nods and walks away. 

“Get a load of her, eh?” he says, indicating back towards the waitress. 

Harry just nods, pretending to laugh at his father’s joke. 

“She was definitely checking you out,” he continues, “I saw that little smile she threw at you.”

Harry laughs again, not bothering to correct his father. She was just being polite, after all. He nervously nips at his straw. 

“I’m serious!” his father says, patting him on the back. Harry cringes. “She was getting a proper look at you, boy! You should jump all over that.”

Harry looks away shyly, and just shrugs. The conversation was making him more and more uncomfortable by the second. But soon she comes back with their beers. 

Harry just sips on his casually. He’s never liked beer very much, but he wants to keep his father in a good mood. 

Harry should be so lucky. 

As the night goes on, empty beer bottles seem to be piling up on the table. Harry’s father finishes one after the other and Harry’s heart sinks as his words become slurred and his comments become crude. He’s talking very loudly to Harry. 

“So,” he blurts out, he’s swaying on his seat, his eyes look like they’re struggling to stay open, “Harry, m’boy, when’re you gonna get yourself a girlfriend?” he takes another sip. “You’re what? Sixteen? Seventeen now?” 

“Almost nineteen,” Harry mutters before taking another sip of his water. He’s barely touched anything in his plate. He’s already feeling sick watching his father grow more and more intoxicated by the minute. 

“Almost nineteen!’ he hollers. Harry can’t help but notice people starting to stare. “Jesus Christ, boy we need to get you some action!” 

Harry cringes and sets his water down. “I think we should go,” Harry says quietly. 

“Go?!” his father yells, “Harry, we never get time just us, let’s just enjoy it, yeah? Let’s just stay! Have some father-son time!” His dad opens another beer, but Harry makes eye contact with their waitress from across the room. He mouths “check” to her apologetically, and she nods, smiling. Part of Harry couldn’t wait to be out of this room, the other part knew that if he wasn’t here, at the bar, he’d be home, alone with his dad. 

The waitress walks over and sets the check down on the table. 

“All done?” she asks, looking down at Harry’s barely touched plate. He nods, running his hand through his curls. 

“What about her, Harry? Eh?” His father turns towards the girl, who is collecting Harry’s plate and drink. He grabs her wrist. “My son needs a girlfriend. You seem like a real catch, young lady-”

The girl’s eyes widen and she tries to back away, muttering something about having a boyfriend, but Harry notices his father’s grip tighten, notices how his eyes have gone a shade darker. Harry knows that look all too well. He stands up, without thinking much through, and grabs his father’s arm from across the table, ripping it away from the waitress, who immediately staggers away.

“Time to go,” Harry says, trying to sound brave. That dark gaze has now turned to him and his heart dropped. “Come on,” he says, softening his voice, “Let’s just go.” By now, a lot of the attention in the bar had turned to the two of them. 

“How fucking dare you,” his father spits. He moves around the table quicker than Harry can react, and before he can move away, his father is grabbing his own arm and twisting it behind his back. Harry gasps as his father then grips a fistful of Harry’s hair and slams his whole head down into the table. “Fucking faggot!” he yells. Harry can’t quite feel his face as it’s hit the table so hard. He squints, struggling to see straight, but before he knows it his head is being whipped up again. He still can’t see straight, but he swears he catches a glimpse of his father’s fist before it connects with his eye. Harry falls to the ground, crumpling beneath the strength of his father, like so many times before. 

He expects to feel kicks, some to his side, some to his stomach. Harry’s already coiled up, in his best defensive position, ready to accept whatever gets thrown at him. But to his surprise, nothing happens. He dares to open his eyes and sees his father being dragged outside of the bar by two men. His father is struggling at their grips, yelling profanities, which Harry assumes are targeted at him. The men quite literally throw his father outside the door. Harry’s heart is racing. He feels beads of sweat dripping down his face. Or is that blood? 

Harry gets up to his feet in a hurry, ignoring the woozy feeling, and runs towards the door. All he can think of is how much deep shit he’s going to be in. He’s about to leave when he hears someone yell, “Wait!”

Harry pauses briefly, his hand on the door knob, and turns around. 

A girl is running towards him, that much he can tell through his blurry vision. As she gets closer, Harry realizes it’s their waitress, wearing a very worried look on her face. She looks like she’s about to cry, actually. 

“You’re not going after him, are you?” she asks. 

“I have to go home with him-“ Harry begins. “I have to, he’s my dad and he’s going to be so mad, I really should just go-“

“No way,” she says sternly. “The man just pummeled your face in, there’s no way you’re going home with him.” 

Harry freezes, his hand still lingering on the door. 

“He’s going to be so mad-“ Harry repeats, wiping the liquid on his forehead. It’s definitely blood. 

“Let me take care of that cut first,” she pleads. 

Harry stays planted firmly on the ground. He’s reluctant to release the door knob. He’s imagining how mad his father is right now. He’s imaging what’s going to happen to him when he gets home. His stomach turns. His face feels flushed. 

She’s looking at him with these big, sad eyes. Her lip is puckered and she looks just so worried. Harry finally releases the door knob. His father probably drove home anyway, left Harry’s pathetic self behind. 

She takes Harry back to the kitchen. Everyone in the bar is staring at him with pity in their eyes. He tries not to meet their glances. He puts his head down, letting his hair cover his bruised face. 

“I’m Sophia,” she says softly once they reach the kitchen. She pulls a chair out for Harry to sit in. 

“Harry,” he says quietly, his head still hung. 

Sophia wets a washcloth and squeezes it out carefully before kneeling before Harry. “Can I see?” she wonders timidly. When Harry lifts his head up, she winces a little. He doesn’t blame her. He wonders if he looks as disgusting as he feels. “Does he do that a lot?” she asks quietly, dabbing his cheek with the cloth. 

Harry squeezes his lips together, cringing at the pain. His face feels swollen. “No. I mean, yes. But only when I piss him off. And tonight I just pissed him off, my fault.”

Sophia wrinkles her nose at him slightly, “Your fault?” she breathes. 

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have grabbed him like that, I crossed the line.”

“Harry,” she breathes, “he rightly messed your face up, and you think it was your fault?” 

Harry hangs his head again as Sophia stands up to rinse out the already bloody washcloth. When she comes back in front of him, she’s grabbed a pan from the shelf. She holds it in front of him like a mirror. 

Harry is shocked to see his face. Or what he assumes is his face, it’s barely recognizable really. His left eye is swollen shut, presumably from being slammed into the table. There’s an equally cringe-worthy gash on his forehead, the culprit of all the blood. His jaw is bruised, too. It’s all discolored and puffy. Harry sighs and pushes the pan away. 

Sophia gently sets it down and continues dabbing at Harry’s face. Neither of them speak for the longest time until Sophia whispers quietly, “You don’t have anyone you can call, do you?”

Their eyes meet and Harry feels so stupid when he starts to actually cry. He tries to hold it in, desperately. His fathers words echo in his head, “only faggots cry”. But it all comes flooding out, because Sophia is right, he has no one to call. His mother would come get him, of course she would. But the thought of explaining everything to her made Harry want to throw up. If he told her about the punishments, she’d finally see all the shitty things Harry did to deserve them. He hated the idea of his mother finally knowing the reason Harry’s father got so mad. Harry. It was all Harry. Harry knew why his mom left his father so many years ago. It was because he would get so mad, over the smallest things. And if she knew Harry was the reason behind all that anger, she’d start blaming Harry for the divorce, too. 

The same went for Gemma. She’d hate Harry if she found out how worthless he really was. He couldn’t call her. 

He had no friends either. None, zippo. He thought briefly about calling Louis, one of the few contacts he had in his cell phone. But it was too soon. Too soon to call your only excuse for a friend about your life crisis. 

So Harry sat, sobbing into his hand, shaking his head. No, he had no one he could call. 

“Shh,” Sophia soothed. “I get off in like 20 minutes, you can crash with me, okay?” 

Harry wipes his eyes with his sleeve, looking up at Sophia’s kind face. Her green eyes are looking back at him, filled with concern and worry. 

“No, no- thank you, but I can’t, I don’t want to impose-“

“Please, no one’s going to mind you crashing with us. It’s just me, my boyfriend and our flatmate. Our place is just outside of Manchester. I promise, I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.”

And something about Sophia’s kind words and Harry having no other choice makes him finally agree. 

Thirty minutes later and Harry is making his way across the back parking lot in the dark with Sophia. She’s got an umbrella opened up for the two of them, Harry has to crouch just to fit underneath it, but it gives him a little bit of shelter from the sudden snow. Harry slides in the front seat of her car, shaking his curls before flipping his hair back. The movement makes his face ache. 

Sophia slides in after shoving her umbrella outback. Harry thinks it’s funny how close she has to sit to her steering wheel for her feet to reach the pedals. She’s got only about half a foot between her and the dashboard. 

“I have short legs, okay?” she says cheekily, turning up the radio. 

She’s got some pop album playing. Harry never heard it, but thinks it’s quite good. He listens quietly, watching the blur of lights pass out the window. 

“You’re sure your boyfriend and flatmate won’t mind?” Harry says timidly. 

“I’m positive. They’re both so easy going, it won’t be an issue.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispers. 

“Hey, you know?” Sophia starts, “I should be the one thanking you.”

That catches Harry’s attention. 

“Yeah, you totally saved my ass from your dad. He has quite the firm grip. So thanks.”

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t have been in that situation if I wasn’t there in the first place,” Harry mutters. 

“What your dad did wasn’t your fault,” Sophia says sternly, turning down the volume of the music. “Okay?” 

“Yeah, okay.” Harry says quietly, not believing it for a second. He knows better. 

They pull into a small parking lot. Sophia parks next to another car before shutting off her radio. “You sure you’re okay though? Don’t want stitches or anything? Your forehead’s still bleeding.” 

Harry brings his sleeve up to touch his forehead. She’s right, it’s still bleeding, but barely. He shakes his head, “No, I’m okay.” 

Sophia leads Harry into the building. They have to climb a single flight of stairs before they’ve reached room 207. Sophia has her key out, but checks the knob first. It’s unlocked, so she just pushes her way through. 

The flat is huge. The first room that was visible was the kitchen, which was extremely spacious. Harry couldn’t help but notice the pile of dishes in the sink, and the pot left on the table. Harry slides his shoes off, not wanting to track mud onto the hardwood floors, he’s always hated making a mess. Sophia does the same, while casually throwing her coat on a hook in the corner. She tugs at Harry’s hand. 

“Come meet the boys,” she says, “guys!” she calls. “I’m home, come down!” 

Harry hears shuffling from upstairs, then a door flies open. 

“Think she brought leftovers?” he hears someone mumble. 

“God I hope so, I’m starving.”

The footsteps get closer and he hears a couple pairs of feet rumble down the stairs. 

Harry is frozen in place as he sees two familiar faces emerge. Liam and Louis stand side by side, facing Harry at the door frame, looking equally shocked. 

“Harry?” Louis says softly. 

“Hi,” Harry mumbles back. And in this moment, he’s never wished he could disappear mroe. He wishes he could fold in on himself, crumple into a pile on the floor, disintegrate. He knows they’re staring, can physically feel their eyes stuck right on his face. He kind of wants to coil up and be invisible forever. But he can’t. He’s stuck, wondering why he ever agreed to this in the first place. 

“And I’m out of the loop, as usual,” Sophia mumbles. “You guys know each other?”

“Not really,” Harry says softly. “Just met at the concert the other night.”

“What concert?” Sophia says, looking up at Liam and Louis. Liam groans, and Harry’s grateful when he sees the boy roll his eyes because they’re finally off his face. Louis though, Louis’ blue eyes are still as piercing as ever. Harry makes eye contact briefly and sees the disbelief on Louis’ face. He looks away quickly, ashamed. 

“We went to a concert the other night while you were at work,” Liam is explaining to Sophia, “it was a last minute thing, of course we would’ve invited you if it was planned-“ 

Harry stops listening to them bicker because all he notices is Louis taking a step closer to him. It’s almost instinctual for Harry to step back, but he doesn’t. He’s frozen in place, staring at his dark blue socks, his toes curling beneath him. Louis’ breath hitches in his throat before he speaks softly. 

“What happened Haz?” 

Harry’s grown to like the nickname Louis has given him. He’s used it a few times over text, but hearing it out loud is so much better. 

“Just an accident,” he says quietly, still not meeting the other boys’ gaze. He feels his cheeks turning red. “No big deal.”

“Your face is bleeding,” Louis emphasizes. “It’s actually bleeding, Harry, how can you say this isn’t a big deal?”

“I just fell,” he lies automatically. Each time he lies to the boy, he feels himself curling deeper and deeper into his shell. He’s reluctantly building a wall up between himself and Louis and he hates it, but he can’t stop. He can’t tell him the truth. 

Louis reaches his hand out to lift Harry’s chin. Harry flinches slightly when the tips of Louis’ fingers touch Harry’s skin. It’s the smallest movement, just a reflex. But Louis notices. “It’s okay,” he whispers, lifting Harry’s face up gently, forcing him to look Louis in the eyes. “It’s okay now.” 

Harry laughs nervously. “I know, I’m fine, really. Like I said, just fell.”

Liam and Sophia have stopped chatting. They’re both looking at the younger boy, pity in their eyes. No one believes Harry’s lie. No one believes he ‘just fell’. Harry knows it, too. And he's grateful when Sophia doesn’t spill the details of the night’s events. He’s grateful that no one mentions it again the rest of the night. 

Liam lets Harry borrow some sweatpants and a sweatshirt. They’re baggy on him. But Harry likes it that way. He shuts himself in the bathroom, alone for the first time since any of this happened. He strips down to his boxers before taking a deep breath. He stares at himself in the mirror and truly takes in how awful he looks. His hair is matted and curled in all directions. His skin is pale, and his face, god his face was in it’s own category of horrendous. He splashes water on himself. Before leaning over the sink, staring deeply at his swollen eye and puffy jaw. ‘You deserved it’, he tells himself again. ‘People don’t just hit people for no reason, you deserved it’. He looks down at his naked torso and wonders what he has to do to make his father like him again. He’s been trying so hard, for so long. Maybe if he was skinnier? He’d lost his baby fat. I mean sure, he had more to lose, but Harry had worked so hard to get to the weight he was at now. Maybe just a few more pounds. Just a bit skinner. Or maybe he was still too gay. Maybe he was too flamboyant and queer for his father. He’d tried to hide it. Tried to pretend to be interested in girls while his father was around. He buried his urges. Never told anyone that he actually liked to imagine guys sometimes. But Harry couldn’t help but suspect that his father still knew. 

Harry was crying. His tears were falling silently down his cheek as he gripped the sink tighter. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he said to himself, trying to hold in his sobs. “Stupid!” he lifted his hand and slapped the side of his head, quite hard. “Stupid!” and again. Harry’s pounding his palm into his temple, trying to rack his brain for more and more reasons why he’ll never be good enough. 

He counts thirty three before he hears footsteps coming from outside the door. 

“Harry?” It’s Louis. “You alright?”

Harry sniffles into his shirt, muffling the sound. 

“I’m fine, be out in a sec!” he calls, his voice clogged and deeper than usual. 

“Okay,” Louis says, his voice still filled with concern. 

Harry emerges from the bathroom dressed in Liam’s gear. He’s got his hands buried in the sweatshirt pocket and the hood up, hiding his greasy hair. 

He joins the other three in the living room. Liam’s sitting on the floor in between Sophia’s legs, as she plays with his hair. Louis is sitting on the opposite end of the couch. He looks up as soon as he hears Harry approach. He scoots his feet up to his chest, making room on the couch, Harry notices. He’s still hesitant to slide between them though, so he settles for a place on the floor near Liam. 

Louis’ face sinks, just slightly. 

“You can take either the couch or crash on the futon in Louis’ room,” Sophia says. “Up to you.”

Harry nods, sure he’ll take the couch. He doesn’t want anyone thinking he’s trying to hit on Louis or anything. “Thank you,” he says softly.  
They watch reruns of Friends on TV. Harry remembers the episodes well. He’s watched them all at least twice with his mum, but he laughs just as hard every time. 

“You like this show, then?” Sophia asks him. 

Harry nods, grinning slightly, “One of my favorites, actually.”

“Mine too!” Liam says. He goes to pat Harry on the back, but casually retracts his arm, clearly thinking twice about the act. Harry pretends not to notice. 

“We all love it,” Sophia says, “watch it practically every night.” 

“Anyone up for popcorn?” Liam asks, standing up groggily. 

“Liam, it’s like almost 1 am, we should go to bed, babe.” 

Liam groans, and stretches out. “I hate it when you’re right,” he mumbles, engulfing Sophia in a hug as she stands up with him. “Alright, night lads,” he says nodding towards Harry and Louis. 

“Keep the noise to a minimum! No one wants to hear shagging tonight!” Louis calls as they walk up the stairs. 

Harry chuckles before turning back towards the television. 

“I suppose I should head to bed as well,” Louis grumbles, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “Not like I have anything to do tomorrow or anything, but-“ he’s interrupted with a yawn. 

Harry nods, “Yeah, me too.” Harry’s lying. He usually doesn’t fall asleep until at least 3 or 4 am. But he doesn’t tell Louis that. 

“Like Sophia said, my room or the couch. My futon’s not amazing, but it’s alright-“ 

“I can just take the couch, don’t want to be a bother.”

“Wouldn’t be a bother, but it’s your choice, yeah,” Louis says quietly. “I’ll grab some blankets and pillows for you.”

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry says sincerely. 

Louis gives Harry a soft smile before flipping himself over the couch. He runs up to a closet near the bottom of the stairs. Harry can’t help but follow every move the boy made. He was so fascinated by the curves of his hips and the way he seemed to actually bounce when he walked, even when he was sleepy. 

‘Snap out of it, Harry,’ his mind said sharply. This is another boy you’re talking about. ‘Boys don’t like other boys, stop being so gay, you’re disgusting.’ Harry winces at the harsh words ringing through his head, but decides they're right. He drops his gaze and mumbles a quiet thank you when Louis hands him a pillow and a couple of blankets. 

“No problem,” Louis says. “I’m the first bedroom on the left if you need anything.”

Harry nods, throwing the pillow on the couch. 

“Haz,” Louis urges. 

“Hm?” 

“I mean it, you know?” 

“Huh?”

“If you need anything, like anything at all, come wake me up, okay? I don’t mind. Like I said, useless bum here, got nothing to do tomorrow and all,” he smiles cheekily. 

Harry nods, graciously gazing up at Louis. Harry could be getting his fingers chopped off, one by one, and he wouldn’t intentionally wake Louis up in the middle of the night. But the offer is so kind, so he thanks him. 

“Night, Haz,” Louis whispers as he makes his way upstairs. 

“Night, Lou,” Harry says back. 

His chest feels empty as he lies on his back, his arm tucked under his head and the blanket Louis gave him only covering half his body. He isn’t cold, not with Liam’s giant sweatshirt and pants. 

He wonders if his father cares about where he is. Wonders if he’s even bothered to text Harry. Harry flips over on the couch, reaching for his jeans piled on the floor. He reaches in his pocket and fishes out his phone, realizing now he hadn’t checked it since the restaurant.  
There weren’t any messages. Harry was relieved, at least he hadn’t made anyone worry about him quite yet. He’d call his mom tomorrow, pretend everything was okay. His father would’ve sobered up by then, too. 

Harry cringed when he thought about the kind of punishment he was going to get when he did return to his fathers. He flipped back over to his back, his phone pressed tightly to his chest as he stared up at the ceiling. Harry tried to prepare himself mentally for what was to come tomorrow, after his father had had another too-many beers. The images that flashed his mind weren’t pretty. 

Harry’s eyes felt particularly heavy tonight. Maybe it was all the crying he’d done. Maybe it was because one of his eyes was practically swollen shut. Harry didn’t know, and he didn’t fret on it too much. He let the humming of the fan and the softness of the blanket Louis had given him lull him to sleep. 

_______________

Louis is having a wonderful dream before he wakes up to someone screaming. 

At first, he thinks he’s still dreaming, but a few seconds of consciousness and he knows better. He flies out of the covers and flips open his door. The screaming subsides momentarily as Louis notices that Liam and Sophia’s door is still shut tight. Louis doesn’t hesitate to follow as the noise picks up again. He goes downstairs and into the living room. 

Harry is huddled up on the couch, looking so small. His face is scrunched and he looks terrified. His whimpers turn to a panicked scream again and Louis rushes over. He thinks Harry is having a night terror or something, but doesn’t quite know how to handle it. 

“Harry?” he says, panicking slightly. Harry doesn’t react, just continues squinting his eyes shut. His yells turn back to whimpers and then to words. 

“No,” he mutters, his mouth forming a thin line, “no, no, no, please, no, not again, no, please- stop, please STOP,“ he screams again. 

“Harry!” Louis shouts, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him violently. Louis hated seeing Harry in such pain. 

Harry woke with a jolt, sitting up quickly. He’s grabbing his chest, his breathing unsteady and heavy. 

“It’s okay-“ Louis says immediately. “Harry, it’s me, it’s Louis, it’s okay, you’re okay-“

Harry turns quickly to Louis, slowly realizing that his nightmare was over. His eyes were wild, full of fear and panic and it’s Harry that lunges into Louis. He wraps his arms around Louis’ neck, his breath hitching in his throat. 

“Shh,” Louis coos, sliding on the couch beside Harry and wrapping his arms around his torso. It was the first time he’d noticed just how skinny Harry was underneath his jumper. “You’re okay, I got you, you’re okay.”

Harry rests his head on Louis’ shoulder while he sobs silently into the crook of his neck. Louis aches inside for the boy, wondering desperately what could possibly have him in tears on his couch at 3 in the morning. What could leave him so physically and emotionally broken. Louis doesn’t ask though. Not now. He just strokes the boys soft curls and whispers reassurances in his ears. 

He waits until Harry’s breathing has steadied before breaking away. 

“Are you alright?” 

Harry nods, his cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry-“

Louis wipes a few tears from Harry’s soft skin. He notices Harry’s soft flinch from his touch. But again, Louis doesn’t ask. “No reason to apologize, Haz.” Louis stands up, gathering Harry’s pillow and blanket in his arms and makes his way to the stairs. He notices about halfway that Harry isn’t following him and turns around. 

“Come on then,” he notions. 

Harry nods, and stands up, shuffling his way towards Louis. 

“I lied earlier, you know? The futon’s absolute shit, so like you can sleep with me, if you’d like,” Louis barely says it. He doesn’t want to make Harry feel uncomfortable or anything. He’d gotten the sense that he’d completely turned Harry off before, considering the fact Harry wouldn’t even sit on the same couch as him. But he had to offer. He’s completely surprised when the boy nods anxiously, waiting at the door frame. 

“Okay,” Louis says, setting Harry’s pillow down beside his. “Do you want the wall or lane?” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry mutters. 

“Okay,” Louis repeats. He slides towards the wall, hoping to give Harry as much room as possible. 

Harry’s hesitant to actually get in the bed, but once he does, he curls up, facing Louis. “Sorry I woke you,” he whispers quietly. 

“I told you you could, remember?” 

“Yeah, didn’t think you actually meant it though.”

“I never say things I don’t mean,” Louis says, smiling through the dark. 

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry breathes. 

Louis doesn’t say anything back, just keeps quiet as he watches the taller boy drift back to sleep. He watches his face carefully, making sure it doesn’t start to scrunch up again. At first, he’s terrified Harry will start yelling again, but after awhile, the soft rhythm of Harry’s breathing puts Louis into a deep sleep.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings include self-harm, purging, and sexual abuse

Harry’s head is especially groggy when he starts to stir the next morning. The first thing he notices is that the mattress underneath him, while extremely comfy, is definitely not his. This one dips slightly in the middle, it’s not firm like the one he’s used to. He feels the slant of the bed pulling his body slightly, but something’s wrapped around him, tight enough to restrict his movement. He admires how warm the blanket he’s cocooned in is. The pillow he’s laying on smells different too, a mixture of dried sweat and lavender shampoo. Harry inhales deeply, partly so that he can inhale the sweet scent, but mostly because he’s in the midst of yawning obnoxiously. He’s so cozy, wrapped up in sheets and blankets. Harry’s pretty positive that his body is actually radiating heat. He doesn’t want to move. Ever. 

The second thing Harry notices, as he grows more and more aware of his surroundings, is that his head hurts. The more awake he becomes, the more he wishes he could just slip back into unconsciousness. His temple throbs, presumably where his head had collided so harshly with the table. Harry thinks it might just hurt more than yesterday. He squeezes his eyes shut one more time, his desire for passing back out fading quickly, before deciding to actually face the day. 

When Harry opens his eyes, the thick, pounding in his head shifts directly to his chest. He panics when he realizes that the cozy blanket wrapped around his torso is actually Louis. His head is buried in the crook between Harry’s arm and body, and he’s snoring softly. He’s got one arm slug around Harry’s waist, the other above his head. His mouth is open slightly, Harry notices a small damp spot on his pillow. Harry’s hard. A side effect of cuddling with Louis for probably most of the night. He squeezes his eyes shut, painfully embarrassed. 

Harry has a hard time peeling his eyes away from the beauty of Louis sleeping. Once he finally gets a grip he mutters a soft “shit,” as he tries to detangle the mess that is their limbs. Harry’s long leg is tucked under Louis’ shorter one and his arm is wrapped behind the boys’ head. Harry’s naturally very cuddly. He remembers times when he used to sleep in his mother’s bed, too scared to sleep alone. The only way he could fall asleep was with her wrapping him up, much like this. “Shit-“ he says again, his breathing hitches when he imagines Louis waking up with them in this position. He imagines Louis seeing his hard cock. He wonders what he’d say. He’d be mad, that much Harry knows, probably think Harry was a creep for cuddling him in his sleep. Call him a faggot and order him out of his flat. Harry should have just stayed on the couch. God, why the hell didn’t he?  
The dream. Right. Harry’s heart starts racing faster as bits and pieces start flooding his mind. It was horrible enough, alone. About his father, as usual. He can’t remember the context of the dream, he just remembers being scared, but that wasn’t uncommon. It was what happened after he woke up that was the worst. That he remembers perfectly clear. 

He squeezes his eyes shut to prevent himself from freaking out too much again. He can’t believe he cried on Louis’ shoulder. Not even just cried, but sobbed. Was an absolute, hideous, mess. If his bruised face didn’t turn Louis off from being Harry’s friend yesterday, then this certainly would. 

Harry worked quietly, lightly lifting Louis’ arm above his head carefully, trying not to wake him up. As soon as Harry starts to shift his body away, he hears Louis groan. 

“No,” he mumbles into his pillow. His grip around Harry’s body tightens. “ ‘m so comfy,” he says, turning his face so it was buried in Harry’s side. 

Harry’s eyes widen, holding his breath. He knows that as soon as Louis realizing it’s Harry he’s cuddling into, he’ll freak out. Probably scream at Harry. Order him out of the room immediately. Harry pierces his lips, waiting. 

“Why’re you so tense?” Louis grumbles. “ ’s like cuddlin’ with a wall.”

Harry lets the air out of his chest slowly, trying to relax. But he can’t. He’s confused. Louis knows it’s Harry he’s holding? Knows he’s spooning a boy, not a pillow or blanket? And he’s not freaking out? Why isn’t he freaking out? Why isn’t he stirring?

Louis eventually sits up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand sleepily. He’s letting out a throaty yawn before he flips on his back and settles back onto the pillow. 

“What time is it anyway?”

Harry’s still. He’s afraid any move he makes will make Louis realize what happened. 

“Pass me my phone?” he asks Harry. 

Harry has no choice but to shakily lift his arm to the dresser near Louis’ mattress. He slowly hands him his phone. 

“Thanks,” Louis clicks the home button before grumbling. “Jesus, Haz it’s like 7 a.m., why’re you up to early?” Louis tucks his phone under his pillow before rolling on his side, so he’s facing Harry. “You okay this morning?”

Harry let’s out a sigh, “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to-“

“Hey, shh,” Louis coos. “don’t apologize.” he says softly, his voice is still scratchy from sleep, he shifts his hand slightly, the back of it touching Harry’s lightly. 

“I just didn’t mean to break down like that-“ 

“Harry,” Louis says, louder this time, and when Harry opens his mouth to protest, he sees Louis sit up quickly and before Harry can stop him, he slings a leg over, completely straddling Harry's body.

Harry freezes.

Louis doesn’t appear to notice. “I told you a million times, it's alright.”

Suddenly, Harry becomes all too aware of how hard he still is in his pants. He panics, knowing Louis can feel it, and doesn't wait for Louis to point it out. “What’re you doing?” Harry chokes out.

Louis pauses. “What d’ya mean?”

Harry drops his eyes to where Louis is perched on him. 

“What's wrong-” Louis tries to be casual about the statement, but Harry notices the hint of fear behind it.

Harry starts sitting up, his actions answering Louis' question.

“I’m sorry-“ Harry’s not sure what he’s apologizing for anymore. The cuddling, the crying, something he said, but he keeps muttering it. He’s pulling away from Louis, his eyes starting to burn. He gets one leg on the floor before Louis reaches out and clings to his wrist lightly. The grip on his wrist feels all-too-familiar and Harry’s actions become primitive as he throws his free arm up in defense. He flinches, his eyes squeezing shut, waiting for the slap or kick that is almost always followed by his wrist being grabbed. 

The thought is gone as soon as it came and Harry lowers his arm immediately, shocked by his own reaction. He coughs lightly, hoping Louis didn’t notice. Which is stupid, of course Louis noticed. He immediately releases Harry’s wrist, his eyes widening. “Harry-“ he stutters. 

But Harry’s chest is tightening, he’s having a hard time breathing. He pulls the rest of his body off the best as quick as he can. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry, Louis,” his voice is becoming choppy, unclear, but he keeps gasping about how sorry he is, as he backtracks to the door. “I’m really sorry.” 

He has his hand on the knob, twisting it open. “Harry- stop, please,” Louis pleaded. “Please, just wait,” Louis is scrambling out of bed, clumsily jumping as he pulls a pair of sweatpants over his boxers, he’s barely a blur through Harry’s teary eyes. But he waits. He figures he owes Louis that much for all he’s done for him already. Harry’s breathing is still heavy, he’s close to letting out another sob, but holds it in. 

Louis stands in front of Harry, a few feet away. “Did you think I was going to hit you?” Louis asks, his voice cracking slightly. 

Harry scoffs nervously. He lets go of the door knob to scratch the back of his head. “No, of course not, I didn’t mean to flinch,” he breathes, “I’m sorry,” he repeats for perhaps the fiftieth time that morning. “I’m gonna go, I think I should just go.”

“Please don't,” Louis whispers. 

Harry contemplates staying, but only for a moment, before shaking his head, twisting the doorknob and leaving Louis standing by himself in the middle of his bedroom, looking defeated. 

Harry goes into the bathroom, relieving himself before stripping off Liam’s clothes and replacing them with his own pair of jeans and jumper. He’s quick to wash his hands before sliding downstairs. He tries to scope out the apartment, mentally preparing himself for any interaction he might be forced to have. Just when he thinks he’s in the clear, Liam’s groggy morning voice fills the air. He’s standing in the corner of the kitchen wearing a dark gray pair of sweatpants and a dark blue t-shirt. He’s got his cell phone in his left hand as he scrolls aimlessly through whatever was displayed. 

“Harry,” he says, raising a mint-green coffee cup to his mouth, he sips quietly before continuing, “you’re an early riser.”

Harry nods as he plays anxiously with the string of his sweatshirt. “Yeah, I’ve gotta run.”

“Ah,” Liam says, setting his cup down. “Well I’m about to hit the gym across town, I can give you a lift.”

“That’s okay, Liam, I can call my mum or walk. Really- you don’t have to.”

Liam’s in the midst of taking another sip as he raises his hand up as if to signal that Harry’s words were nonsense as he dumps the contents of his coffee down the drain. The liquid is a light brown color, Liam must like lots of cream in his coffee. “It’s like freezing out, all that snow we got. You really shouldn’t be walking in that.”

“I’m going to my dads.”

Harry trembles slightly thinking about walking into his father’s flat after last night. He wonders if he’ll even let him inside. He’d of sobered up by now of course, but Harry knows that this time was worse. All of this was way worse than anything he’d ever dealt with between him and his father. He cringes, thinking back to the night before. Of course his father had hit him before. But never in public. Never in front of anyone. 

Harry’s jolted out of his hazy thoughts by Liam clearing his throat. 

“It’s really no problem, mate,” he says kindly. “Let me drive you.”

Harry grudgingly agrees. Not because he wants to accept the ride, but because he knows if he pushes anymore excuses, Liam might grow suspicious. 

Harry doesn’t speak much once he’s buckled in the front seat of Liam’s pick-up truck. Harry has a hard time contributing more than a nod or mumbled “yeah” to the conversation Liam’s sparked up. In fact, he has a hard time even listening to Liam rattle off about his new workout routine. Harry can’t think about anything other than that look on Louis’ face as Harry backed out of his bedroom. 

Harry’s always had a hard time reading people. He’s notorious for making things worse because sometimes he just doesn’t know when to shut up or react properly. He was pretty sure Louis was angry. Harry swore he saw confusion, maybe even some sympathy in Louis’ eyes when Harry fumbled out of the room like an idiot. Harry cringes as he looks out the window of Liam’s truck, watching houses pass by in a blur. He shivers slightly, wrapping his long arm around his torso. He picks at the sleeve of his sweater, his thoughts racing. His stomach curls when he thinks about how embarrassing he is. Why can’t he just sleep through the night without waking up screaming? Why can’t he control his emotions? Why does he have to be so comforted by Louis’ smell and Louis’ voice and Louis’ touch? Why did he have to look at another boy that way, Louis that way? Why couldn’t he just be normal?

The sky is a dull gray and there’s a light layer of snow on the ground. Liam eventually figures out that Harry isn’t listening so the only sound in the air is the sloshing of tires through the slush. With a few directions muttered by Harry, eventually, Liam is turning up a small driveway into a parking lot. Harry’s thanks Liam, before he slowly piles out of the truck. 

His knees ache when they step down the pavement, presumably from the cold. He shivers again, wrapping his jumper tightly around himself. He’s about to shut the door when Liam leans over the center console to stop him. 

“Harry-“ he says, leaning up on his muscular arm. “You know, you can always crash with us. Anytime really. You’ve got Louis’ number, so just text him or call him. We’ve both got cars, so just anytime.” 

Liam’s gesture is sincere and it makes Harry actually consider taking him up on the offer. ‘He doesn’t really mean it’ the voice in Harry’s head says suddenly. And Harry sighs, realizing that the voice is right. Liam is just being polite. Saying what he thinks Harry wants him to hear. He doesn’t really expect Harry to ever call. 

“Thanks,” Harry says, “I don’t think Louis likes me much anymore though,” he mumbles quietly, fumbling with the base of his jumper. 

Liam raises his eyebrows and scoffs. “Ha, yeah right Harry. The kid hasn’t shut up about you since we left the concert.” He’s chuckling now, shaking his head. After a moment, he sees the look on Harry’s face, and realizes that Harry’s not joking. “What do you mean?” Liam adds. 

“I think I just crowded him too much last night,” Harry says softly. He doesn’t say more. He doesn’t want to burden Liam with everything that happened. 

“What do you mean?” Liam repeats. “Did he say something to you?”

“It’s nothing, really. It’s okay,” Harry pauses, his fingers linger on the door. He offers Liam a weak smile. “Thanks though, I appreciate it.”

“I mean it, Harry,” Liam says, his voice lowering. “Soph told me what happened yesterday, between you and your dad.”

Harry pierces his lip, biting down until he tastes blood. His head continues to hang low, his cheeks begin burning with that all-too-familiar feeling of embarrassment. 

“I know it’s not my business, Harry, but you don’t have to go back there if you don't want to.”

Harry nods, his eyes not quite able to meet Liam’s lingering gaze. “Thanks Liam, I’m okay though.” 

Liam nods, turning his lips up in a sad smile. Harry finally mutters a final thank you before shutting the door to the truck. He can’t help but notice that as he works his way up the driveway to the entrance to his father’s apartment, Liam doesn’t back out. His truck stays running, but Harry swears he can see Liam watching him softly through the windshield. 

Harry gives him a tentative wave in case he really is watching before opening the door to the main building. His wet shoes squeak against the floor as he makes his way up a flight of stairs to the second platform. It isn’t until he’s wrapped his fingers around the door knob of his father’s door that his heart starts to race. His minds immediately starts to think about what could be waiting for him on the other side of the door. But he takes a deep breath, reminding himself that whatever punishment his father had in store for him, Harry most definitely deserved after yesterday. 

At first, the flat is completely quiet. Harry gently pushing his way inside. He notices his duffel bag in the corner of the kitchen, a heap laying awkwardly on the floor. He had left it in his father’s truck and was surprised to see he had actually brought it indoors for him. Harry goes to pick it up, a full three steps inside, before he hears his father’s voice. 

“Harry?” It isn’t angry. It isn’t booming or loud or scary. It’s spoken like any parent would upon hearing their child casually comes home from school. But Harry can’t help but feel suspicious. Because his father isn’t a normal parent. And Harry isn’t casually coming home from school. 

Harry is reluctant to call back, the only reason he does is because he has no other choice. He brushes his curls out of his face before his dad walks in the living room. 

“Heard the door,” he mutters quietly, he lifts his hand up and points to the front entrance, “didn’t know who it was.”

Harry presses his lips together nervously. This was one of those times where he wished he was better at reading people. He had picked up his duffel and had it hoisted up on his left shoulder. His other hand was shoved hastily in the pocket of his jeans. 

“Right,” his dad mutters, clearly realizing that Harry didn’t have much to say, as usual. “Well, glad you’re back. I’ll call a pizza or something tonight.”

Harry nods, his stomach curling at the thought of shoving greasy pizza into his mouth. It reminds him that he never purged the greasy burger from the night of the concert or the few bites of food he’d eaten at the restaurant. Suddenly the back of Harry’s throat begins to itch. He swears he hears the toilet calling his name. 

“Sounds good,” he says softly. He doesn’t meet his father’s gaze, but instead focuses on the drawstring of his loose sweatshirt. 

His father nods before turning and walking back down to his bedroom. Harry sighs in relief, his father sober, was awkward and mumbling and never could quite look Harry in the eyes. But he was a saint compared to his father drunk. Harry takes the opportunity to escape to his bedroom. He lays his duffel on the bed and slowly unzips it. He takes out a change of clothes and his special face wash before locking himself in the bathroom. 

He turns the shower on, letting the temperature adjust before he undresses. Then, he’s pulling his cell phone out of his pocket for the first time since yesterday. There’s a slew of text messages that flash on the screen. The first he opens is from his mother, wishing him a happy weekend away with his father. He types a quick ‘thank you x.’ before scrolling to the next six. All from Louis and all from this morning.

7:34 a.m. ’Hey, I'm really sorry about this morning. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, where’d you go?’  
7:40 a.m. ‘Li’s gone too, did you guys go get breakfast or something?’  
7:59 a.m. ‘Haz, i’m so sorry about what happened this morning’  
8:48 a.m. ‘Kind of starting to worry, just text me when you get these.’  
9:03 a.m ‘Li’s just gotten back, says he brought you home.’  
9:14 a.m ‘Sorry to bother x.’

Harry sighs. 

He wants to slide right and delete all six messages. That would be the smart thing to do. Just delete the messages along with Louis from his life altogether. Harry’s sure he’s already fucked up any possibility of a friendship with Louis anyway by making things weird between the two of them. He’s not even sure why Louis is texting him in the first place. Probably being polite, like Liam was when he offered him to stay. He knows he freaked Louis out this morning, knows he doesn’t deserve a friend like Louis to begin with. He knows Louis holding him and being so kind about his beaten face was just Louis being a good person. Not because he cared about Harry. But Harry finds himself picking up his cellphone again and staring at the words ‘I’m really sorry’. What the hell was Louis apologizing for? Harry bites down on his chapped lips, deciphering and pondering on whether or not he should answer. He selfishly thinks about how comforting Louis has been for him the last few days. Seeing his name pop up on his phone is enough to send Harry’s heart into a fluttery mess, but that’s just because Harry hasn’t really had anyone to talk to besides his mom or sister or father in so long. Then he remembers Louis’ fingers running through his hair as he cried on his shoulder last night, remembers his soothing words and soft touch. Harry is about to reply when his father’s voice fills his mind, “Pathetic sack of shit, there’s a reason you’ve got no friends.’ And that’s all it takes.

Harry ends up closing the screen and pulling up his music app instead. He hits shuffle on his shower playlist before pulling his jumper over his head. He strips out of his jeans before staring into the full length mirror his father has hanging on the back of the bathroom wall. Harry’s eyes begin to water as he stares at the reflection in front of him. Harry’s hands first travel to his stomach, the worst part of his body in his opinion. It puffs out and Harry’s fingers grip the fat there tightly. He pulls at it, snapping the skin and pinching the areas he wishes were skinny. Next, he grips his hips, then his thighs. Harry continues to touch all the unattractive areas of his body before he let’s his hand trace his wrist. He looks at the array of cuts, some red and still fresh, some a delicate, fading purple, and others a permanent white. Each line a reminder of all the times Harry’s fucked up. A reminder that he is damaged goods. 

Harry knows he’s the worst thing for Louis. He’s a burden, and he’s done the right thing by not replying. He faces the mirror again, and focuses in on why he came in the bathroom in the first place. 

Harry likes to scrutinize himself in the mirror before his shower. It’s the one time of the day where he can let himself actually feel everything that’s running through his head constantly. He likes to pinpoint every inch of his body he’s deemed unlovable. Most of the spots are ones his father has commented on during the nights that he comes into Harry’s room. He’s pinched Harry’s sides and called him pudgy. He’s flattened his hand over Harry’s stomach and commented on how bloated it was. He’s squeezed Harry’s thighs and remarked on how they always seem to rub together. But today, it’s his arms that Harry can’t look away from. He looks at the ugly marks that run up from his wrist to his elbow crease. He counts each one in his head, stopping when the tears start to cloud his vision. 

He tries to take a deep breath and calm down so he can do what needs to be done. His shower has heated up the bathroom and the mirror becomes too fogged for Harry to stare at himself any longer. He increases the volume of his music before kneeling down in front of the toilet. He pulls his hair back in a messy bun before hastily shoving his finger in his mouth. He strokes the back of his throat, rubbing circles until he feels that all-too-familiar feeling in his body. His stomach lurches and Harry retches into the toilet bowl. Not much comes up. But Harry still feels fat and disgusting, so he tries again. Harry shoves his finger down his throat over and over until he’s just gagging and spitting up bile. Even then he isn’t satisfied. 

Harry flushes the toilet and washes the vomit that had stuck to his finger before opening up one of the small drawers in the bathroom. He fishes around a tube of toothpaste and some q-tips before pulling out the razor he’s had hidden at his father’s flat. Harry crouches his naked body with his back pressed against the bath tub before taking a deep breath. He presses the metal to his skin and drags the blade lazily across. Immediate relief washes over Harry’s entire being at the pressure. He releases, then holds his arm up to watch the line of blood slowly surface. He lets it run down his arm, watching mesmerized. 

He slices a few more times, none quite as deep, before rinsing the razor and shoving it away. Harry crawls into the shower, feeling a little dizzy from throwing up so many times. 

Harry shampoos his hair slowly, rinsing carefully and applying a bit of conditioner to his curls. He listens to his music intently before it is interrupted by his ringtone. Harry’s startled by the sudden shift but he clampers out of the shower, drying his hand before swiping to answer the call. 

“Hello?”

“Hey Haz,” Louis’ voice says softly through the line. 

“Lou,” Harry says quietly back. “Hey.”

“Sorry to bother, I just hadn’t heard back from you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

A wave of dizziness washes over Harry but he focuses on the words Louis has just spoken. “Sorry, I was going to respond,” he lies, “and yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” he chuckles thickly. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you-“ Louis begins. “And I just wanted to say sorry if I made you uncomfortable or anything.”

Louis’ voice is soft, yet sincere. He utters each words with precision and sympathy and Harry pictures himself flinching so violently when the other boy grabbed his wrist. He pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling so wrong hearing Louis apologizing. Harry should be the one apologizing, a million times if necessary. 

“It’s okay” Harry breathes. “You shouldn’t be the one saying sorry, I should-” 

“So we’re both sorry then,” Louis says. Harry detects a smile through Louis words and he pictures the boy’s soft face as he speaks. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, and he can’t help but smile too.

“So, I know you had family plans or whatever for tonight. But I wanted to re-invite you to my party, just incase anything had changed.”

Harry pauses. He’d forget about Louis’ party tonight. And even if he didn’t forget, Harry was sure that after upsetting Louis so much this morning would have been a sure indicator that he was no longer invited.

“It’s cool if your family stuff is still on, or whatever,” Louis says. “I just wanted to let you know the offer was there.”

“No-“ Harry tries to object. 

“It’s alright,” Louis says laughing, “please don’t feel like pressured or anything.”

Harry thinks he should probably tell Louis that no, he isn’t coming. He should probably avoid the party, avoid Liam and Sophia. Avoid Louis. He knows Louis is only inviting him to be nice. Just like Louis only does anything for Harry to be nice. But Harry is selfish.

“I’d like to come, actually.”

“Excellent,” Louis says, his accent ringing thickly though the line. “I have to run to the store to pick up some snacks and drinks for tonight, but just text me your address and I’ll swing in and get you!” 

Harry agrees before hanging up. He lays his phone down softly before climbing back into the shower to rinse out the rest of his conditioner. His arm aches from the cuts and his stomach growls but Harry doesn’t think much about that. He’s too busy picturing the pair of blue eyes he’s so mesmerized by. 

 

___________________

 

Harry spends the rest of the day locked up in his bedroom. He started off by texting Louis his father’s address, but they ended up exchanging a few more messages about how Louis knows exactly where he lives, because his aunt used to live in the same building. Louis continues to tell Harry about his aunt and the rest of his family and before Harry knows it, they’re in a full blown conversation. Harry isn’t a very good texter. He feels bad and kind of insignificant because Louis always has something interesting to say. Louis doesn’t seem to mind that Harry doesn’t say much, because he continues to text back throughout the day. Before Harry knows it, it’s five in the afternoon and his father is banging on the door. 

Harry almost jumps off his bed, but once he’s composed, he tells his father to come in. Harry buries his phone in the pocket of his sweatshirt, turning around on the bed to face his dad. 

He’s met by his father’s uneasy gaze. His eyes look glassy and his mouth is open slightly. He looks like he’s having trouble staying balanced on his own two feet and Harry doesn’t have to assume that he’s already started drinking. 

“Haven’t seen you much today,” he says quietly, making his way to the edge of Harry’s bed. Harry’s heart races like it always does when his father gets close to him. But Harry doesn’t move. 

His father’s hand moves from the edge of the comforter to Harry’s knee. Harry’s breathing hitches and he pierces his lips as the touch moves further and further up Harry’s thigh.  
Harry closes his eyes tightly because he knows what’s about to happen. He doesn’t need to be told to flip over anymore. Things work out better for Harry when he cooperates, things hurt less. So he flips on his stomach and presses his head into his pillow. He doesn’t whimper or cry out when his father aggressively pulls his trousers down. He barely cringes when he feels the harsh pressure of his father’s fingertips press into his thighs, surely leaving behind bruises. And he only sniffles slightly when his father presses inside him roughly, but it’s muffled by the pillow. His father is sloppy but he doesn’t curse at Harry like he normally would, he doesn’t utter profanities and cruel words in Harry’s ear. After just a few thrusts, he’s coming and muttering loudly. It’s all a blur to Harry really, because his jumper is still on him and he can feel his phone pressed tightly into his abdomen. Harry hopes there’s a text from Louis waiting for him. He hopes the boy’s name is the first thing he sees when he clicks his home screen. 

His father is pulling out of Harry and buttoning up his own pants. Harry hears his father mutter something like ‘you like it’, but Harry can’t be sure. His ears feel kind of plugged and clouded right now. 

When he hears the door to his bedroom click shut and his father’s footsteps fade, Harry is still laying face down in the pillow. He’s suddenly too ashamed to check his phone. He imagines Louis finding Harry like this, turned upside-down, his hair a mess and his body used up. Harry let’s a few tears escape imagining what Louis would think of him if he ever found out. 

Harry had let himself think about the possibility of him and Louis being friends. After receiving text after text all day, Harry couldn’t help but imagine letting himself be friends with Louis, and Liam and Sophia too. He pictured having real companions, people who actually cared about him. And while Harry stupidly let himself succumb to these childish dreams, his father’s lingering scent was just a reminder of how stupid Harry had been. He could never be friends with Louis. Or anyone really, but especially Louis. He didn’t deserve someone like Louis, someone so kind and caring and thoughtful. Louis was loud and funny and good. Harry was disgusting and Louis was beautiful. Harry was fat and Louis was perfectly fit. Harry was damaged goods and Louis was pure. Harry was gay and Louis was straight. Harry let the list continue in his head before he felt his phone vibrate again in his pocket. He slowly lifted himself off his duvet. He reached down and pulled up his sweatpants before clicking his phone. 

Louis’ name lit up the screen along with two messages: 

7:46 p.m ‘leaving now to go to town, any snack requests?’  
8:09 p.m ‘just got to the store, now’s your last chance!’

Harry replied. 

8:11 p.m ‘im good, thanks though’ 

Harry locked his phone before shoving it into his pocket. He emerged from his bedroom, aware that now was probably the best time to tell his father he was leaving for the night. Harry was sure his father wouldn’t care, especially now that he was done with Harry for the night. He was pretty sure there was some stupid game on tonight that his father would refuse to miss, so if anything Harry would just be in the way if he stuck around. He was confident his father would be excited to get rid of him. 

There was an opened box of pizza on the counter when Harry walked into the kitchen. His father lingered over it with a paper plate. He looked deep in thought before grabbing a giant piece and slabbing it on his plate. 

“I’ve got a group project and agreed to go study with someone tonight, is that alright?” 

His father looks up from his plate and meets Harry’s eyes. He’s definitely drunk, Harry thinks. 

“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles. 

Harry nods slowly before taking a seat at the counter. His father hands him a plate but then walks into the living room. He kicks his feet back on the table and turns the volume up on his sports game. Harry sets the plate down and retreats back to his bedroom without a word. His stomach grumbles, craving some food. But Harry ignores it. He’s got to pack for Louis’. 

Harry is in the midst of stuffing his duffel with an outfit and some toiletries when Louis texts him saying he’s five minutes away. Harry zips the bag up and slings it over his shoulder. He’s walking past his dad and mumbling a quiet goodbye before leaving the flat. 

Harry hated the idea of Louis having to come up and actually knock on the door. He pictures the small boy meeting his father. He imagined Louis being able to smell the alcohol on his breath, or sense the tension lingering in the air. Harry would much rather meet Louis outside, even if it was chilly. 

Harry wraps his arm around his body, shivering violently. It’s snowing again, but Harry won’t complain. The cold gives him an excuse to wear all his favorite oversized clothes. Harry loves big clothes because it covers his fat. 

Sure enough, five minutes later, on the dot, Louis rolls into Harry’s driveway. His high beams flash over Harry’s silhouette before the car goes into park. Harry walks over carefully, still clutching his shaking body. He makes his way to the passengers seat, pulling open the door and climbing in with a sigh. 

“Hey Haz,” Louis’ face meets Harry’s tired eyes. And that’s when Harry realizes just how much energy the shivering took out of Harry. Louis looks worried when he notices how cold Harry is. He’s wearing a maroon, knit sweater that fits perfectly around his torso and his hair is pulled back aimlessly in a gray beanie. He’s got one hand on the steering wheel and one resting on the console. He reaches over though and Harry finds himself leaning into an awkward side hug. It’s nice though. Louis feels so warm. 

“God, you’re freezing,” Louis says after Harry failed to return Louis’ greeting. That’s when Harry hears his own teeth chatter. He nods in agreement. Louis cranks the heat in his car and Harry lets out a soft sigh as he feels the warmth take over his body. 

“Hey Lou,” Harry finally manages to get out sheepishly. And Louis is smiling at Harry. Harry feels relief wash over him, because even though he’s been texting Louis all day, he couldn’t ignore the nagging in the back of his head telling him Louis was still pissed from the other night. But seeing Louis smile in person made him feel lighter, and to his surprise, Harry realizes that he’s actually smiling back.


	4. IV

Harry is doubled over in the front seat of Louis’ car, on the verge of tears. His seatbelt is pressing uncomfortably in the crease of his neck and his stomach is starting to cramp, but he doesn’t pay much attention to that. He hasn’t laughed this hard in a long time. He hasn’t felt this good in a long time. 

Louis is rambling on and on about some prank him and Liam pulled before they left for university and Harry can’t hold in his laughter because it’s just so genius. Louis is laughing along with him as hard as he can without crashing the car. He’s got one hand on the steering wheel and one clutching his own stomach, and his fringe is falling lightly in his face. Harry swears he sees him casting glances towards his general direction, but Harry’s probably imaging it. 

“Liam tells it better,” Louis says, on the verge of tears. 

Harry just nods, but even though he had to keep repeating parts of his story over again because he was giggling too hard, Harry doubts that anyone could tell a story better than Louis. Or at least there’s no one that Harry would rather listen to. 

The ride back to Louis’ flat feels so much shorter than that morning. Before he knows it, Harry notices that Louis is turning the car into the familiar lot, only this time, there’s about twice as many cars there, and Harry finds himself throwing Louis a nervous glance. Of course it’s a party, Harry thinks to himself. Of course he didn’t expect to be the only other person at this party. But upon seeing the other vehicles, actual physical representation of other people who would be attending, Harry realizes he didn’t think much about having to interact with anyone rather than Louis for the entire evening. 

Louis seems to sense some of Harry’s discomfort. “So you’re gonna meet some of my best mates tonight, you’ll love ‘em!” 

Harry nods, giving Louis his most convincing smile before following him up the snowy path to the flat. They’re barely halfway up the stairs when Harry starts to hear muffled music coming from presumably room number 207. Louis laughs lightly. “Jesus, it can’t even be nine o’clock yet.”

Harry adjusts the groceries he’s helping Louis carry in his arms and checks his watch. He nods towards Louis. “Just past nine, yeah.”

“Going hard already then,” Louis says shaking his head. As the two boys approach the door, Louis lifts his knee in the air and balances the paper bag he’s holding on it as he reaches for the knob. 

The sound gets undoubtedly louder as soon as Louis breaks the seal of the door. He looks back at Harry and gives him a warm smile. 

Harry should be nervous. He should be utterly terrified. He’s never been one to go to parties or be around more than a few people at once. He gets too overwhelmed, always feels so out of place. But Harry doesn’t want to be anywhere else. He wants to follow Louis into the chaos, and so he does. 

The main lights to the apartment are off. Instead, a stream of red and white decorative holiday lights are hung around the perimeter of the living room and kitchen, connecting in a complete loop. Harry’s eyes don’t adjust right away, so he has a hard time making anyone out to be more than vague silhouettes. Harry stands in place once the door is shut behind him, still holding the paper bag awkwardly in his hand. He is in awe, staring out at the completely unfamiliar apartment. All the furniture is in place, it’s the amount of people clustered about and the flashing light stationed on the DJ table, and the fact that there’s even a DJ in the first place, that has Harry standing in shock, trying to take it all in. Louis leads him to the counter, where he piles the groceries. He waves his hand at Harry, beckoning him to lean in closer. He shivers slightly with Louis’ hot breath in his ear. 

“So just stick with me and I’ll introduce you, yeah?”

Harry pulls back and nods, offering Louis his most genuine smile. That seems to satisfy Louis, because he’s smiling back, practically bobbing on his own two feet and he waves Harry to follow him to the living room. 

The music is loud. Harry can practically feel the pop beat vibrating inside of his chest. This isn’t how he imagined Louis’ party to be. But he didn’t hate it. There’s about about forty to fifty people in the flat, most of whom seem already intoxicated. There’s a large group clustered in the living room dancing and jumping and spilling their drinks all over themselves. They’re all smiling though, genuinely happy. And hell if Harry doesn’t breathe in a little deeper, desperate to catch even half of the joy radiating through the room. 

Louis leads Harry to the couch where there appears to be an intense Fifa match going on between two lads. Louis claps them on the back, yelling something in one of their ears. He gets a smile in response and the boy yells something back, but Harry can’t make out the words. Before Louis actually gets to any introductions, Harry is almost tackled to the ground by a small body topped with some brown hair. 

“Harry!” a voice shrieks. And he’s stumbling back slightly, trying to hold himself, as well as the shrieking individual, up. He finally gets a glimpse of his attacker. Sophia stands pressed close to him, holding a red cup and looking tipsy. She’s smiling up at him, her eyes glowing. “So glad you came!”

“Hey Soph,” he says back, he holds her shoulders, a poor attempt to steady the girl. She’s giggling now. 

“So glad, Harry,” she annunciates each word carefully. “Louis hasn’t shut up about you all day, so glad-“ she takes a sip of her drink, “so glad you came.”

Harry glances up at an embarrassed-looking Louis. If it wasn’t so hot in the apartment, Harry would have sworn he was blushing, but it must just be from the heat. It wasn’t so strange, Louis talking about Harry all day. He was probably talking that much about everyone he invited to his parties. Harry brushes it off. 

“You look way too sober,” Sophia says, a frown forming on her flushed face. “Here-“ she shoves her cup towards Harry’s face. It probably would have hit him right in the cheek had he not moved away quickly. Suddenly, Sophia’s smile turns into a brilliant grin. “I spot me boyfriend!” Her sing-song voice rings through the air before she’s skipping off. 

“Right,” Louis mumbles, pulling Harry’s sleeve. “Now that she’s revealed my dark secret, let’s go meet the lads, and get you a drink!”

Louis leads Harry to a table set up in the corner of the room. It’s small, but cluttered with an assortment of all sorts of alcohol, juices, and sodas. He mixes something up for Harry before handing it to him. “There.”

“My mom taught me never to accept already-poured drinks from a stranger,” Harry says cheekily. 

Louis’ eyes practically roll out of his eyes and, instead of arguing, brings the drink to his own lips. “Suit yourself.”

“Wait! I’m kidding!” Harry laughs, trying to pull the drink away from Louis’ mouth. 

“Mine now,” Louis says, smug, because his lips touched the plastic. 

Harry slowly snatches the cup out of Louis’ hand and brings the cup to his own mouth. He positions it to where he assumes Louis drank from and latches his lips on. He watches as Louis shakes his head, smiling wide, before gulping down a fair amount of the liquid. 

It burns. He shivers as he feels the liquid drip down his throat and warm his chest. Harry tries to think about the last time he’s allowed himself to drink alcohol. He hates drinking his calories. But for some reason, that’s the last thing on his mind tonight. Besides, he can always purge tomorrow. 

Louis makes himself a drink and is about to introduce Harry to the lads playing Fifa on the couch before a blonde boy quite literally gallops over. He’s got a beer bottle in his hand and a huge grin on his face. His sweater is what attracts Harry’s attention though, all thick and wool, with the words “Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal” sprawled across his chest. 

“Lou!” he bellows, his thick, Irish accent ringing through the room. 

“Niall!” Louis calls back, he extends his arms and accepts a hearty hug from the boy. They embrace for a few moments before Niall pulls back, keeping one arm slung around Louis’ shoulder. Harry feels slightly out of place as the two of them chat for a few moments. Louis is quick to pull Harry closer though. 

“Niall, this is Harry, Harry this is my mate, Niall.”

Niall’s grin returns to his face and he embraces Harry with almost as much enthusiasm as he had Louis. “How are ya? Great to meet you.” 

The boy is practically on his tip-toes so he can reach around Harry’s neck, but he stays like that, not bothering to remove his arm as he continues to chit-chat with the two of them. 

Niall tells Harry all about how him and Louis met through university. How they were just across the hall from one another during their first year. He talks about what it’s like being a music major, and that he can play all sorts of instruments, (and he’ll definitely teach Harry guitar sometime). 

“I live right in the flat down the hall, just like the dorms, in’nit Lou?” Niall says, grinning. “I’ve gotten a new flatmate though, much, much better than my roommate last year. Remember him, Lou? What a nut!”

Niall continues to tell Harry all about what a ‘total dick’ his old roommate, Erik was, and how his new roommate, Zayn, was a saint comparatively. 

“He’ll be around here somewhere,” Niall says, shrugging. “Probably outside, smoking or something. I’m sure you’ll meet him!” 

Harry soaks it all in, listening and not having to say a single word. 

“When’d you get here?” Niall finally asks, turning towards Louis. He hands his cup over, and Louis accepts it. He begins talking as he refills it with some rum on the table. He doesn’t even bother mixing it with anything else before handing it back to the boy. 

“Just a few minutes ago, had to grab some snacks and such, didn’t expect things to blow up so quickly.”

That’s when Niall finally removes his arm from Harry’s neck, the absence of touch leaves Harry’s skin exposed and a bit chilly.

“You’ve got snacks?” he asks hopefully. Louis nods and motions towards the counter, and that’s the end of their conversation with Niall. He leaves, thanking Louis for the drink and promising to catch up with Harry later, before going to rummage through the groceries. 

“I like him,” Harry says softly, taking another gulp of his drink. 

“Everyone likes Niall,” Louis says proudly. “’S one of my best mates!”

Harry is introduced to three friends of Liam’s from the football team, a couple of girls Louis has met through his drama club at University and some of Sophia’s friends from school before him and Louis are being approached by a pretty brunette. 

She has a huge grin spread across her face and doesn’t hesitate before crashing into Louis. The two of them embrace and Harry can see the equally-ecstatic grin on Louis’ face as his cheek squishes against the girl’s shoulder. 

“Hello, love!” Louis hums, rubbing her back in a quick stroke. “How are ya?” 

As the brunette’s about to answer, the song changes to an upbeat, popular radio hit and her face lights up. “Lou!” she gasps, “It’s our song!” She starts humming the beat before looking towards Harry, “You don’t mind if I borrow him for a bit?” 

Harry shakes his head quickly, taking another sip of his drink. 

“Thanks, love!” She says and Harry’s left to watch as Louis gets dragged into the open space in the living room for a dance. 

Twenty minutes later, Harry finds himself plopped down in the sunken-in arm chair in the living room. 

He’s smiling happily to himself, his curls stuck to his forehead from sweat, and he’s just genuinely feeling so happy. He’s not thinking about his father sitting at home. He’s not thinking about his mother, probably working another double shift at the hospital. For once his throat doesn’t itch and his stomach may feel a little bloated but he doesn’t mind. Because Harry is bubbling with the effects of whatever’s in his cup and he feels happy for the first time in so long. 

He watches everyone else in the room. Some, tired like him, have found a place to chill for a bit. Others, like Niall, were standing on top of the tables singing Katy Perry at the top of their lungs. 

Harry spots Louis across the room, talking with the same brunette in the tight-fitting dress and Harry can’t ignore the pang of jealousy that fills his chest. He stiffens up once he sees the girl break out into a hearty laugh. She reaches out and touches Louis arm. He’s laughing too. Probably telling one of his jokes, and Harry’s sad that he’s not the one listening to it. 

It’s the first time Harry’s allowed himself to actually look Louis over, from head to toe without much judgement. Sober Harry wouldn’t accept such nonsense, because staring at other boys is wrong and dirty. But drunk Harry doesn’t seem to object, besides he’s not checking him out or anything. No, he’s just observing. Harry decides he likes Louis’ hair in the fringe like that. It suits him. Harry also decides he likes the way Louis’ bum looks in the jeans he’s wearing tonight. They fit tightly around the little curve and then continue to hug his legs; from his thighs all he way down to his calves. But that’s just an observation. Because Harry is definitely not checking Louis out. 

Harry hasn’t even noticed he’s completely zoned out until an angelic voice stirs him. He looks away from Louis’ bum to find whoever’s face belongs to such a beautiful voice, and his eyes land on a dark-haired, tanned boy with lots of tattoos standing before him. 

“You alright mate?” the boy asks again. He’s already assumed by Harry’s blank gaze that he did not hear him the first time. 

Harry nods slowly and twists the end of his sleeves nervously out of habit. 

“You were kind of zoned out there, yeah?” The boy speaks slowly, no slur, his words perfectly clear. Harry stares at the boy for a good long moment, marveling at just how clear his skin is and how his eyes sparkle in the reflection of the dimmed lights and God, Harry really needs to stop. 

Harry laughs lightly. He still has not spoken a word. 

“You’re Louis’ friend, right? Harry?”

Harry nods again, pressing his fingers into the armchair and hoisting himself up. He wobbles slightly, but steadies himself without too much trouble. He’s facing Zayn now and inhales the smell of cigarette smoke and cologne. 

“Heard him talking ‘bout you a bit ago, I’m Zayn,” he says, extending his free hand outward to Harry. 

Harry takes it without hesitation, returning the Zayn’s kind smile. 

“You’re Niall’s roommate then?” he asks, because how many ‘Zayn’s’ can there be at this party?

“Sure am. It’s great to meet you,” Zayn says, he has to speak loudly, so the music doesn’t drown out his words. 

They stand silently for a few minutes, and Harry gathers that Zayn might be a little bit more like him than any of Louis’ other friends. He has his hands shoved deeply inside his leather jacket and he doesn’t have much to say. Harry doesn’t immediately feel like he knows everything about Zayn like he did with Niall. It’s kind of nice, and frankly, Harry isn’t sure he could keep up with another conversation like he had with Niall after the amount he’s had to drink. 

“You go to the university then?” Zayn asks finally. 

And Harry’s shaking his head, finally confronted by one of the many things that really separates him from everyone else at the party. 

“No, not in university,” Harry mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. His eyes flicker past Zayn briefly. Louis is still making that brunette laugh hysterically. Disgusting, Harry thinks. “I’ll go next year, though,” he says. Because that isn’t completely a lie. Harry really wants to go to university next year, and if all pans out, he should be able to. 

“Brilliant, and you’re thinking of moving to Manchester then?”

And Harry’s nodding again. Even though he’s barely even considered where he wants to go to university, he’s nodding. “What do you study?” he asks Zayn, because someone with such a cool demeanor and slick hair and so many cool tattoos must study something really abstract and interesting. 

“Art,” Zayn answers casually. 

“Sick, you draw or paint or what?”

“Little of everything. Mainly draw. Like pencil sketches and stuff. But I paint as well, do some sculpting. Like all of it.”

“What kinds of stuff do you draw?” And Harry wants to slap himself because Zayn must get these stupid questions all the time. 

He doesn’t seem to mind though, because he starts telling Harry all about his work. He tells him about his secret spot, (which he’d never reveal), across town where he goes and just watches people, and then he draws them. 

“Can I see sometime? Your art, I mean.” Harry asks sheepishly, because he’s almost certain Zayn will shy away and tell him no. 

“Sure, Harry,” Zayn says smiling, and he pats Harry on the arm. “Now common, I gotta get myself a drink, I’m way too sober for this scene.”

________________ 

Louis continues to chat up the brunette girl throughout the night and Harry doesn’t stop drinking. He pours shot after shot down his numb throat. He tries some darkly-colored liquor that Niall’s pulled out of a duffel bag, and then he accepts this fruity mix of a drink that Sophia hands him. He feels like he’s kind of floating and nothing makes sense anymore, but he keeps accepting refills. And as he becomes less and less aware of his surroundings, he simultaneously becomes increasingly aware of the curvy, blue eyed boy that hasn’t popped in to say hello in over two hours. 

Harry tries not to let it bother him, but he’s way to drunk to filter his mind, so instead he finds himself throwing the brunette glares and wishing he was the one making Louis’ eyes crinkle like that. 

The party thins out around one. People start stumbling out of the apartment in twos and threes and eventually the only people left are Liam and Sophia, who are now a mess of sleepy limbs on the couch, Niall, who’s still talking happily and looks like he might be ready for round two, Zayn, who looks to be trying really hard to pay attention to Niall’s story, Harry, Louis and the brunette girl Louis has been carrying around on his arm all night. 

The lights have come on to display the beer bottles and crushed cups scattered throughout the flat. Harry’s lying on the floor, his neck held up uncomfortably by the back of the couch. He drums his fingers along his stomach. It isn’t until Niall takes a break from talking to grab some water that Harry speaks. 

“Who is she?” 

“Hm?” Zayn hums, barely looking up from his phone. 

“That girl Louis has been gawking at all night, who is she?”

Zayn chuckles. “Oh yeah, that’s Eleanor.”

“Who?” Harry asks. Because it’s probably the liquor but he didn’t hear anything Zayn’s just said to him. 

“Her name’s Eleanor,” Zayn says a little clearer. “I’m not exactly sure,” Zayn starts, “She’s like the daughter of the boss that Louis’ dad works for, I think.” He pauses, and locks his phone screen. “His dad works for this posh company, makes big bucks. Pays Louis’ tuition and everything.”

Harry hasn’t taken his eyes off of the pair of them. He’s internalizing Zayn’s words, looking at the couple, thinking they’re probably a match made in heaven. Dad’s are coworkers. Children are in love. How cute, Harry thinks. He tastes bile in the back of his throat. 

“Anyways, El and him practically grew up together. Lou’s dad has this weird infatuation with her. Always saying her and Louis should go out. He’s always bugging Louis about it, says they’d be perfect. She’s nice enough. Real sweet. Not really Lou’s type though,” Zayn says pinching his grinning lips with his fingers.

“Sure looks like his type,” Harry mumbles grumpily. He has to admire how beautiful she is. Her long hair falling down her back. Her dress clinging tightly to her, Harry can see the perfect outline of her hipbones through the fabric. 

“Why Harry, do I detect a hint of jealousy?” Zayn says cheekily, poking at Harry’s side. Harry instinctively recoils at the touch, not wanting Zayn to realize the amount of fat Harry has pooled at his hips. Zayn sees that he isn’t laughing, so his tone softens. “Trust me on this one, mate. Lou would never go for Eleanor.” 

Harry’s about to ask just why Louis wouldn’t go for such a beautiful, and apparently sweet girl, before he’s interrupted by Niall’s all-too-cheerful Irish accent. 

“What’re we talking about boys?” he asks, slipping between Harry and Zayn on the floor. 

“Harry, here, is crushed because he thinks Louis is infatuated by Eleanor,” Zayn says teasingly. If he wasn’t so drunk, he might have been embarrassed. Instead he whimpers softly. 

“Ha!” Niall says, cracking his soda open. “Has El grown a dick since last time we spoke?”

Harry almost chokes on his own spit as he hoists his neck in Niall’s direction. “What?” he sputters, coughing slightly. 

“I’m just saying, if she has a dick, maybe he’s interested. If not, then she’s probably still not his type.”

And only then does it click.

“Louis is gay?” Harry asks, dumbly. 

“Last I checked,” Niall says. 

Zayn is laughing harder than Harry thought possible. But Harry remains shocked, his mouth hanging open. 

“Oh-“ is all he manages to get out. 

“Most people don’t have this much trouble realizing that,” Zayn says, still chuckling. “He’s not very subtle.”

“Why does his dad push him to be with Eleanor then?” Harry asks, because it really doesn’t make any sense. 

The boys are both quiet. Neither jump to answer Harry’s question. 

Finally, it’s Zayn who speaks, but he’s hesitant. “Things, between Louis and his dad, they aren’t good.” 

“What do you mean?” Harry slurs. 

“Look, mate,” Zayn says, “It’s probably not my place to say, but I’m sure Lou will tell you about it eventually.” 

And Harry can’t argue with that. So he stays silent, continuing to drum his fingers aimlessly on his torso. He feels lighter, less angsty and jealous as Louis finally shows Eleanor out the door.

Zayn has lifted himself up on the couch, laying his head on his arm and resting his eyes. Niall’s got the remote in his hand and has found some football match on the telly, and Harry has propped himself up in a more comfortable position with his head resting back on the lip of the couch. 

Louis practically skips into the living room, clearly thrilled by what a success his party was. “Alright then, lads?”

All Louis gets back is one big groan from the lot of them, in unison. 

Harry is tired. He’s got his eyes closed until he feels someone slide down beside him, close enough so he feels their radiating body heat. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s Louis, but he does anyway. Just cause. 

“Hi,” Harry mumbles, barely craning his neck to look at Louis. 

“Hey Curly, you have fun?” 

Harry nods slowly, his head feeling so heavy. “Mmmhm,” he mumbles. “Lots of fun.”

Louis isn’t nearly as intoxicated as Harry apparently, because he has no trouble watching the football game on the screen with Niall, while Harry can barely keep his eyes open. Sophia, it appears, has also passed out. It isn’t long until Liam’s got her cradled in his arms, and bidding everyone a goodnight. 

Harry vaguely hears Louis ask Niall and Zayn if they just want to crash here, to which they agree, before Harry let’s himself finally drift off. 

He isn’t sure how long he’s asleep before Louis nudges him awake, but it’s long enough where the uncomfortable position he’s in has his neck already hurting. 

“Haz,” Louis hums, prodding at his jumper, “Haz, common.”

Harry squints his eyes open and he’s thankful that the bright light of the living room is finally off. The white Christmas lights are still on and Harry admires how they make Louis’ eyes sparkle above him. 

“You’ve got pretty eyes, Lou,” Harry mumbles, rubbing his nose with the sleeve of his jumper. 

Louis chuckles at that before tugging at Harry, trying to get him up on his two feet. “Flirty little drunk, huh? Common, let’s get you to bed.”

“I mean it,” Harry says. “Such pretty blue eyes.”

Louis laughs lightly again, but Harry detects the waver in his voice, “Well thank you, Harry. Now come on, let’s go to bed.”

“Where am I sleepin’?” Harry asks groggily, letting Louis finally help him to his feet. 

“Wherever you want,” Louis says, his arm braces the majority of Harry’s weight as they begin to walk. 

“With you-“ Harry begins, his head cloudy. He remembers the feeling of Louis wrapped around him the night before, remembers how warm and safe he felt. He wants nothing more than to feel that again. The voice in Harry’s head kicks him for suggesting it. Harry knows how much he freaked Louis out the night before. Harry knows Louis has been nothing but generous and kind and Harry really wants to keep him as his friend. Harry knows sleeping with another boy is gross and his family would never approve. But Harry’s drunken id is overpowering and strong tonight and Harry is selfish. “With you,” he says again. 

“Okay,” Louis says softly. 

He has to help Harry up the small staircase, and even when Harry is in the hallway he finds himself leaning on Louis for support. 

“So tired,” Harry mumbles, his head falling on Louis’ shoulder. 

“We’ll get you to bed,” Louis assures him patiently. 

They finally reach Louis’ bedroom and Harry is all but ready to plop right into bed for the night. Louis gently sits Harry down and reaches for his jumper, but Harry nudges him away. He’s not so drunk to forget what he’s hiding underneath all the fabric. He doesn’t want Louis to be disgusted with his abundance of fat and scars. He just mutters something about being chilly before letting his head fall on Louis’ pillow. Harry waits patiently with his eyes closed for Louis to fall beside him, but it doesn’t happen. Eventually, his brow furrows. 

Louis is across the room, laying a blanket down on his futon and slowly kicking off his shoes. 

“No,” Harry grumbles, trying to sit up. His head is spinning. 

Louis looks over. 

“With me,” Harry slurs. He’s sure that Louis wasn’t able to understand, because Harry barely even understood the mess that just came out of his mouth. But Louis is gathering the blanket he’s sprawled out and making his way closer to Harry. 

“You sure Haz?” Louis’ voice is soft and genuine. 

Harry hums in response, scooting over to make room. “Please,” he says looking up and Louis nods. Harry’s impressed with his persuasion abilities. 

When Louis lays down, he’s on his back and he isn’t nearly as close as Harry wants him to be. Harry debates on if he should scoot closer or not. He knows he’s probably being selfish, asking Louis to sleep in the same bed as him. He’s pushing his luck as it is. But Harry’s drunk and Harry’s feeling risky so he inches his body forward, until he can almost feel the heat of Louis’ body connecting with his own. He swears he hears Louis’ breath hitch in his throat when Harry’s fingers brush the back of Louis’ hand. 

“You’re okay?” Louis breathes. It isn’t accusing, it’s genuine. And Harry smiles up at the boy, his face hallow and lost in the shadows from what little light is casting into the room. 

Harry nods slowly before mumbling a barely audible, “Yeah.” And that’s all it takes for Louis to close the rest of the gap between them. He wraps his arm around Harry and pulls him tightly against his chest. Harry sighs out in relief as he lets his head rest. He snakes his legs down the bed, and intertwines them with Louis’ and finally, after the long night, Harry feels at peace. His nauseous stomach and spinning head is held at bay by the slow rise and fall of Louis’ chest and Harry is so grateful that this is where he gets to fall asleep, even if it is just for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i have finals coming up and i have to start thinking about packing to go home for the holidays, but i'll try to update again as soon as i can.


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings include purging and homophobic language.

When Louis wakes up, he’s alone. 

He knows that he shouldn’t be all that surprised, especially after the way Harry had reacted last time the two of them had shared a bed. Louis couldn’t believe that Harry had suggested, no- insisted, that they share a bed last night. Granted, he was piss drunk. But still. 

Louis remembers the terrified look on Harry’s face as he had practically scurried out of his bedroom like a startled deer just the morning before. He could almost feel the utter panic Harry was emitting, could almost reach his hand out and grab the tension that was left lingering in the air. He knew he’d gone too far when he’d coiled himself around Harry. He knew he should have refrained, just stayed pressed up against the wall and made sure Harry was okay. He knew he shouldn’t have been so selfish. But Harry was just so inviting, so warm. And after Louis had tossed and turned and woken up (once again) in the middle of the night, the only thing that kept his mind quiet was the idea of Harry’s touch. So Louis had pressed closer. He didn’t expect much. Just wanted to feel the pressure of Harry against himself. And well, if Harry just so happened to engulf Louis into a bear hug after just the smallest nudge, well Louis wasn’t about to argue with that. He should have pulled back. Should have known he was pushing too far. Louis had felt like shit the rest of the day for it, too. Watched as his texts went unanswered, ignored even. Watched as he pushed away yet another potential friend because he was too needy. 

He wasn’t going to let that happen. He wasn’t going to let his wondering thoughts and irrational urges push Harry away. Not when Harry obviously needed a friend. 

Louis was surprised that Harry had answered the phone when he called. He was surprised that Harry agreed to come to his party. Surprised when he managed to make Harry smile, laugh even. He was surprised when Harry cracked a joke in front of Louis. He was surprised that Harry seemed to have actually had a fun time. There were a lot of things Harry had done to surprise Louis. But waking up to find that Harry was no where to be seen, shouldn’t have been one of them. 

Even still, Louis can physically feel the ache in his chest after he snakes his arm across his mattress, only to find it cold and empty. 

He sits up in bed, his hair poking out in all sorts of awkward angles, his face greasy, and his mouth dry, before slinging his two legs onto the floor. Louis rubs his eyes with the backs of his hands in an attempt to wipe the sleepiness from them, and eventually gathers enough motivation to make his way across the room to pull some pants on. 

Louis shimmies his way into the loose sweats, trying not to think about the fact that he’s probably upset Harry again, probably pushed his limits again, before noticing an unfamiliar cell phone perched on the corner of his nightstand, near his bed. He glides over and lifts the small phone, clicking the home button. The screen lights up to display two, almost identical looking-women. One is noticeably younger, her hair a golden, brown and her smile radiating joy. The other was sporting dark hair, reaching just below her shoulders. She also had a series of laugh lines outlining the perimeter of her familiar-looking eyes. Their faces remind Louis of a certain green-eyed boy with a similar, cheeky smile, and somehow he knows that the phone has to belong to Harry. 

Louis shoves it in his pocket, his first thought being that Harry had woken up and left in a haste this morning, forgetting his phone altogether. However, when Louis emerges from his bedroom, he’s instantly proven wrong. 

________________

Harry slept harder than he had in a long time for the first half of the night. Louis is pressed tightly to back, his arms coiled around his middle. Their leg’s are intertwined and Harry remembers being lulled to sleep by Louis’ soft breaths tickling the back of his neck. He’s never felt safer, more secure. 

However, after a few hours, Harry wakes, feeling too hot and slightly nauseous. His hair is clinging to his sweaty forehead and his heart starts to race when his stomach began clenching. Harry knew that feeling all too well and didn’t hesitate to fling the covers over his body, breaking away from Louis’ warm embrace and making a beeline for the bathroom. 

Harry has puked more times than he can count. 

Harry has puked because he’s had the flu. 

Harry has puked because he’s had food poisoning. 

Harry has puked because he couldn’t stand the bloating feeling his stomach always felt. 

But Harry had never puked because alcohol was poisoning his system. He hated it. 

Granted, Harry knows there’s not a person alive to admit to have ever liked puking, but Harry has never been more miserable in his entire life. He’s hunched over, his legs wrapped around the base of the toilet bowl, and his knuckles white from gripping the porcelain too tight, and Harry vows to never drink alcohol again.

He briefly thinks about waking Louis up, desperate for someone to comfort him, to hold him tightly. He imagines his hand on his back or brushing away remnants of his hair that keeps getting stuck on his forehead. He thinks of his voice reassuring Harry that everything will be okay. He maybe even imagines the way Louis’ cool lips would feel against his own skin. Maybe he’s still drunk.

Harry’s body shudders and another wave of nausea washes over him as he heaves into the bowl yet again, all thoughts of Louis being momentarily pushed aside. 

His head is pounding, presumably from dehydration, but Harry can’t think about much more than making sure he doesn’t miss the toilet. He hasn’t eaten since lunch the day before. But there was enough liquid in his stomach to keep him hurling into the bowl, over and over, until his he’s gasping for air. 

Harry isn’t sure how long he’s in the bathroom. But when he thinks he’s finally finished, his head is heavy, and the idea of walking all the way back into Louis’ room seems impossible. So he resolves to laying his head on the cool, bathroom floor instead. The tiles feel nice against his clammy cheek and Harry is too exhausted to care. So he falls asleep like that. 

 

________________

 

The first thing Louis sees after swinging his door open is a heap of clothing coiled around the toilet seat. Louis walks closer, shivering as his bare-feet touch the cool, tiled floor, and cringes when he realizes that buried deep within the heap of clothing is Harry. His face is scrunched up and his nose twitches as he sleeps, his cheek pressed against the bathroom tiles. He can’t suppress the smallest smile that lingers on his lips. Because even though he can empathize entirely for the hungover boy on the floor, he can’t help but admire how beautiful his soft face looks underneath the mass of matted curls clinging to his forehead. 

He admires a brief, minute more before kneeling down beside him. 

“Haz,” he’s gently shaking his shoulder. 

A groan is all he gets in return. 

“Babe, common. Let’s get you off the floor, yeah?”

Another groan. 

Harry’s eyes scrunch shut tightly for a moment before opening. And even though Harry’s eyes are bloodshot and barely open, they’re staring up at Louis. And Louis’ breath hitches in his throat because he’ll never get used to just how much he loves Harry’s eyes. 

“Don’t feel good-“ Harry’s words are mumbled together and Louis can barely make out what he’s saying. But he nods sympathetically. Harry looks like a right mess. 

“I know Haz, let’s get you up though.”

Harry doesn’t protest any longer and he willingly accepts Louis’ support out of the bathroom. Louis makes a mental note to disinfect later, or rather suggest Liam does so for him. Louis never was much of a cleaner. 

“Couch or bed?” Louis asks once he manages to get Harry into the hall, and he’s really hoping Harry says bed because he isn’t sure he can guide him all the way down the stairs without some sort of disaster resulting from it. 

“Bed,” Harry mumbles, and he even tries to bare some of his own weight before muttering, “ ‘s lot closer, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, slightly out of breath. Harry’s frame is bigger than Louis’, and while Harry is thin, he’s still gangly. Louis does his best to support the boy back to the bed, but Harry inevitably ends up practically slamming into the mattress once they’re in the room. Louis is just grateful he actually lands on the spring bed, rather than the carpet. 

Harry curls up into a pathetically small ball. He’s hoisting his knees into his chest and shivering violently. 

“You’re so nice to me, Lou,” Harry whispers in a drunken slur. “So, so nice to me. Nicer to me than anyone else. I don’t know why, but I’m glad, glad you’re so nice to me. So so nice. Like you lots, Lou. ” He’s rambling now. If Louis wasn’t so close, he probably wouldn’t have heard a word the boy said. But his heart flutters at the kind words, drunken or not, Louis is always open to accept some compliments. He hates to admit that they just sound so much nicer coming from Harry. 

Louis bites his lip and briefly considers crawling back into bed with the younger boy, wrapping his arms around his body and pulling him tightly into his chest. But Louis refrains, and instead pulls the duvet up to Harry’s neck, tucking him in. Louis watches as his face relaxes a bit, the creases around his lips easing into a smooth, thin line. His cheeks fall and sleep captures him. Louis hovers, watching as his bundled body rises and falls with each intake of breath. Louis isn’t sure how long he stands there, awkwardly still, mesmerized. But eventually a shuffling from outside the hall stirs him back into the present and Louis decides he needs to stop staring so much at Harry. 

________________

 

Harry has little to no recollection of Louis shaking him awake on the bathroom floor at 7:00am. He is much more alert when he finally starts to stir at around 10:30am. There’s a glass of water set on the nightstand near the bed and Harry practically drinks it down in one gulp. 

He’s a bit disoriented, waking up in Louis’ room for the second time. But really, all Harry can think about is how awful he feels. He reluctantly (and quite literally) rolls out of bed, making a mental note to himself never to drink again. 

Everyone’s awake and gathered in the living room when Harry comes downstairs. 

It’s Liam to first notice Harry’s presence. He’s got a trash bag held at the edge of the kitchen table and he’s sweeping some straggling beer cans into it. 

“Morning sunshine,” he says cheekily. With that, Sophia, Niall, and Zayn all turn their attention from the television to Harry. It’s almost in perfect unison that all three of their faces erupt into smirks. Harry must look as awful as he feels. 

“Rough morning, eh lad?” Niall says as he peels himself off from the couch. He’s completely showered and put together. Harry can’t help but become overwhelmed by jealousy in that split second. He doesn’t even look hung over, meanwhile Harry feels like he might be knocking on death’s door. Niall brushes past with his empty plate, clapping Harry on the back on his way by. Harry’s knees almost buckle at the contact. He regrets getting up, and finds himself seriously considering why he got out of bed in the first place. 

“Leave poor Harry alone, Niall,” Sophia scoffs. She’s up too. Both making their way to the kitchen to deposit their plates into the sink. “You look miserable, babe,” she sympathizes, handing Harry another glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. Harry hopes his grateful gaze is enough of a thank you, as he takes the two items willingly. He would open his mouth to speak. But with his queasy stomach, Harry still doesn’t fully trust himself not to throw up instead. 

Harry gulps down his second glass of water along with the pills, hoping for some sort of relief. It’s just then that he realizes that Louis is nowhere to be seen. 

Harry’s heart sinks as he slowly lets himself think about the events from the previous night. He practically dragged Louis to bed with him. Actually whined and pleaded when he opted to stay on the futon instead, from what he recalls. Harry cringes just thinking about how needy and embarrassing he was. Why he ever let himself get so out of control in the first place, Harry doesn’t quite know. And Harry feels a slight pull of panic in his chest when he starts wondering if Louis wasn’t here because he was actually avoiding Harry. Maybe he just couldn’t stand to face Harry after all the cuddling he had no doubt done in his sleep again last night. One night of that and yeah, maybe Louis could have forgiven Harry. But two nights in a row? It’s no wonder he isn’t here. Harry’s stomach churns unpleasantly as he slumps down in one of the stools placed at the counter. 

Harry wants to pretend that his stomach is flipping right now because he’s hungover. He knows though, that the way he feels right now isn’t from that, a hangover doesn’t explain the tightness he feels in his chest. He knows that a hangover doesn’t explain why thinking of Louis makes him feel like this. 

Harry knows that nothing about this is okay. Because even though he’s sitting here trying to repress it, he can’t just pretend like he doesn’t care about Louis’ absence. And that scares Harry. It scares Harry because the longer he sits and is left with his thoughts, the longer he has time to sift through the vague memory he has of Louis being pressed up against him, his arms woven tightly around his chest. He remembers their legs, twined tightly together. And it isn’t okay. Because even though he’s sitting here trying to ignore it, he can’t just pretend like he doesn’t have actual feelings for Louis. And he feels so sick, so so sick. He barely knows Louis, and yet he’s spent two nights, curled up into his side, and he’s never felt safer, more stable than those moments. 

And he remembers asking Zayn through gritted teeth just who had captured Louis’ attention at the party last night. Remembers the feeling of jealousy flooding through his entire being and no. This wasn’t okay. He knows he has feelings for Louis because he’s already been trying to ignore them. He’s been trying to ignore the way his eyes always search for Louis when he walks in a new room. He hates how he’s always looking for a new part of Louis to explore, whether it’s the length of his eyelashes or the way his thighs fit so nicely in his jeans. He’s been trying to ignore the way his breath hitches in his throat when he sees him. The way his brain seems to get all jumbled and light when Louis is around. But he can’t ignore it anymore and it isn’t okay.

“I made breakfast,” Zayn says quietly from beside the stove, completely stirring Harry from his thoughts. He hadn’t even noticed the young man get up from the couch, but there he was, sporting an oven mitt. He had a frying pan in his hand, filled with greasy, sizzling bacon. “You should eat, it’ll make your hangover better.”

Harry looks up from the counter and frowns as Zayn starts piling piece after piece of bacon onto a previously clean plate. Harry had known that someone had made breakfast, he could smell the bacon all the way from Louis’ room. It was sort of painful how loud his stomach had been crying for it. But he had buried his head in his pillow trying to get away from the scent. Chugging the glass of water beside his bed had tricked his stomach. Until now. 

He’s almost sure the entire room hears his stomach growl. Harry feels betrayed, and wraps an arm instinctively around his middle. He can’t help but think about all the calories he must have consumed in alcohol last night as he pinches at the fat pooled on his side, he can’t afford to eat breakfast too. 

Harry can feel eyes on him as he stares at the plate of bacon Zayn has prepared for him. It’s sizzling and smells so so good. His stomach does another flip and Harry finds himself counting calories and thinking about how much weight he’s surely gained since last night. He feels trapped. His heart starts to race, his head spins. His shaky hands pick up the bacon and he brings the piece to his lips. He takes a bite, taking his time to chew. Eating unbearably slow has always been one of his tactics for getting away with eating less. Harry used to rush through his meals, taking a few bites before hurrying to the garbage can, just wanting to get as far away from the smell as he could. His mother picked up on that. She started commenting on the fact that Harry would never hang around to chat with her anymore. Harry had felt bad about that. Knew he was being painstakingly selfish. Dinner time was really the only time he and his mother had to spend together. So he opted for a new method. He takes his time now. Sits for at least as long as his mother, if not longer. Taking no more than a few bites, but savors it. He also found that taking huge swigs of water in between helps. He chats a lot too. He cuts his food into little, microscopic bits. His mother is less suspicious. He just has to be careful. 

This doesn’t apply to bacon though. You can’t mash bacon up and swirl it around in your plate to look smaller than it really is. Harry’s stomach churns immediately. His throat itches. He takes another bite. And then another. 

He eats all four pieces of bacon on his plate. And he feels like he might burst. When Harry finally looks up from his plate, he’s grateful to see that the attention was off from him. Sophia has started helping Liam clean up, Zayn was on his second plate of food, and Niall was flipping through the channels. 

Just then, Harry hears the front door open. He’s whipping his head in the direction of the noise, and is surprised to see a chilled-looking Louis snaking his snow-covered coat off. He’s got a handful of mail in his hand and his eyes immediately connect with Harry’s, his face breaking into a beautiful smile.

Harry isn’t sure what he feels when he looks at Louis anymore. All he knows is that the lingering gaze makes him writhe in his seat. It makes him agitated and timid and excited all at once. And Harry thinks once again about just how beautiful Louis is, his bright blue eyes staring right into Harry’s, his cheeks flushed and pink from the cold. 

And suddenly, Harry feels so vulnerable, so open and exposed and he feels almost forced to drop the gaze. He stares back down, too overwhelmed to continue. He hears his father’s voice echo in his head. He can’t have feelings for Louis. He refuses to be sucked into those beautiful, blue eyes any longer. 

Harry quickly grabs the plate, brings it to the sink, and begins aimlessly rinsing his dish. He even starts washing the rest of the dishes in the sink before he hears footsteps behind him. 

“Haz, you don’t have to the dishes. Not hungover, at least.”

It’s Louis. His voice sending shivers up Harry’s spine, and okay, what’s that all about?

He shrugs and tries to laugh casually. It comes out awkward and forced. But he shuts the water off and spins around to face Louis. His head still throbs. But he ignores it as he’s met, once again, by Louis’ gaze. He’s a lot closer than Harry thought. It startles him at first. But then he’s trying to read Louis’ expression, and dammit Harry’s never been very good at reading people. But he thinks Louis looks timid. Nervous even. Like he’s approaching a wounded animal. 

Harry tries to ignore the way his throat itches, the way his stomach feels so uncomfortably full. The way his head is screaming at him. Telling him that he’s weak. Telling him that he’s out of control. The taste of greasy bacon lingers in his mouth. He feels disgusting.

“Alright then?” Louis says once he’s assessed Harry. “Feeling better?”

Harry nods, then scratches the back of his neck nervously. He let’s out another awkward laugh because he can’t really think of much else to say. 

Harry looks down at his shoes, his anxiety making his own skin crawl. In his peripheral vision Harry sees Louis’ arm lifting to perhaps touch him. And Harry remembers, once again, how good it felt to be beside Louis last night. How good his touch felt. No. This isn’t okay, Harry thinks again. Harry’s just eaten a ridiculous amount of bacon and his stomach is bloated and he’s so, so disgusting, and all he can think about is how little he wants Louis to touch him now. So he sidesteps it, quite literally steps out of reach so Louis can’t touch him. He tries to smile at him lightly, so Louis won’t think Harry is mad at him or anything, but he just can’t have Louis realizing how uncomfortable he is under his jumper right now. He brushes past him and joins the rest of the lads and Sophia in the living room, and he tries to ignores the look of confusion on Louis’ face after his arm drops back to his side, tries to brush off how horrible he feels to have caused such a hurt expression, tries to convince himself that he doesn’t need to purge right now, tries to be okay. 

________________

Harry is not okay. 

He’s sitting amongst five of the nicest people he’s ever met, all laughing and sharing jokes, and being normal, and Harry can’t think. His hands play with the sleeve of his jumper, desperate for a distraction, because if his mind doesn’t quiet down, he’s sure that everyone will find out how crazy he is. 

Louis is sitting near Harry on the couch with a full plate of bacon and a couple of eggs resting on his lap. He keeps throwing Niall tips about Fifa as he battles against Liam. Harry is hyper aware of everything and everyone in his surroundings while simultaneously feeling distanced. It’s like a thick cloud of anxiety and fog has wrapped itself around him, making everything seem so surreal. He can hear Louis tell Niall which player to pass the ball to, which button to press, he can hear it all. But it’s like he’s hearing it through a muffled layer of cotton or something. He can see Zayn roll his sleeve up a little higher as Sophia sits in front of him to paint his nails. It’s all here, right in front of him, the laughter and happiness and Harry can’t find it in himself to participate in any of it. 

Harry thinks about the boy next to him. He can feel his leg pressed against his own, but it feels so far away. He catches Louis staring more than once and it makes Harry want to curl up and disappear. Louis knows something is off, and all Harry can think about is how much he hates himself for continuously hurting Louis. Yesterday morning in the bedroom, this morning in the kitchen, who knows what else he said last night. Harry’s always been a fuck up. He’s always hurt his father and his mother. But now he’s developing this strange habit of hurting Louis. And that, above anything else, makes Harry hate himself even more. 

And Harry just can’t be here right now. Because apparently there is something so detrimentally wrong with him that he can’t even sit for five minutes and have a normal conversation without wanting to tear himself apart. 

He ends up excusing himself. 

“I feel like I need a proper shower, do you mind?” he asks. 

“Not at all!” Liam’s the one who answers. 

“Towels are under the sink, you can use any of the shampoo that’s in there.”

“Thanks, Liam,” Harry mutters. Louis steals a quick glance at Harry before he can retreat to the bathroom. He mouths what looks like ‘are you okay?’ to Harry and it takes everything Harry has to lie again, and nod his head yes. He drags himself up the stairs and peels off his socks when he’s through the door to the bathroom. He turns on the shower first before slowly kneeling down in front of the toilet. He worries about the boys hearing. But eventually, he’s too overwhelmed by the need to rid his body of this horrible feeling, so he stops caring so much. 

Harry tries to keep himself quiet. He wants nothing more than to gag and cough as the vomit splashes into the toilet. But he doesn’t. The burn that he feels in his throat feels good in such a weird way. It feels good not to be vomiting out of necessity either, like he had so desperately last night. His eyes are wet and he’s not even sure if it’s from the force of throwing up or because he’s crying, but he keeps going. Once, twice, three times. It hurts, burns his throat and makes his stomach churn and his head throb and it hurts so good.

When he’s done, he lifts his head up and rests it on the edge of the toilet bowl, letting himself breathe. There’s no more food left inside of him. Harry’s empty. Both figuratively and literally, but that just won’t do. Right now, Harry wants to keep hurting, so he reaches his shaky, slobbery fingers to the back of his throat and gags himself again. His stomach lurches, but there’s nothing left, so he dry heaves, over and over again. It isn’t even about Louis anymore. It’s just about himself and how disgusting he is and how wrong and fucked up he is. He’s been continuously tearing himself apart for as long as he can remember, really, and it’s never enough. He shoves his fingers down his throat again, a little rougher this time, and as nails scrape the back of his throat, he gags again. Saliva mixed with blood is all that comes up. And Harry stares at the pool of red swirling in the toilet, reminding him how little he really is worth. He keeps going until every breath he takes hurts. He goes until he’s blinking so harshly just to stay awake. Until his knees ache underneath him. When he inhales his breath rattles and then he’s coughing, coughing so hard he can’t even breathe. And he knows he has to stay quiet. Knows if he continues, someone will hear. But he can’t stop. His body is betraying him and he heaves and coughs until his eyes flutter and he sees stars. Coughs until there’s banging on the door. He barely even notices Zayn rushing to his side, stroking his back and repeating his name. 

The coughing finally subsides. Harry lets himself fall back from the toilet onto the cold tile, would have smashed his head if not for Zayn’s strong embrace. But he’s leaning his back up against the wall and the toilet paper holder is digging into his shoulder. 

Slowly, the world around him comes into focus and Harry realizes that it’s not just him and Zayn in the bathroom anymore. Louis has kneeled down. And no, no, no. Not Louis. Louis is on his knees, looking so scared. He has one hand cupped over his chest, clutching like he’s just had heart murmurs or something. 

Harry hears voices directed at him. Faint and fuzzy at first, but slowly refocusing, like a scratchy notch of an old radio. Harry finally tunes in to what they’re saying. 

Zayn’s stroking his head softly and it’s just then that Harry realizes that he’s crying, hard. He wipes his tears away fiercely, and tries to pull out of Zayn’s arms. He quickly reaches up and flushes the toilet, hoping neither of them saw the red mixed vomit. He coughs once more, knowing that his voice will be scratchy and shit when he speaks. 

“Never let me drink again, yeah? Think I had a bad reaction to it, or something-” he says sheepishly, and his voice is hoarse. It’s horrible and painful. No one says anything. Zayn is still leaning back against the shower, probably getting soaked from the running water. And Harry’s heart is clenching so tightly so he laughs lightly, hoping they’ll buy his coverup. Because what else can he do? 

Zayn’s the first to speak. 

“Definitely no more alcohol for you,” he whispers. His voice is shaky. He sounds horrified. And Harry feels awful again, because he’s staring up at the two of them, and he sees how worried they look, and Harry knows that he’s the one causing it all. 

“You’re okay?” Louis breathes. It sounds more like he’s trying to reassure himself of this, rather than checking in with Harry, but Harry nods anyway before peeling himself up off from the floor, his knees shaking and his bones aching. 

No one moves. Instead, Zayn and Louis watch Harry feverishly, waiting for him to either start coughing again or freak out. Either way, Harry’s desperate to cover it all up. 

“I’m okay,” he assured, despite having already indicating to the two of them this. “I’m fine, just got a little woozy.”

The two of them nod before getting up as well. It isn’t without hesitation that they leave Harry alone in the bathroom again to shower. Zayn repeatedly telling Harry to yell out if he needed anything. Harry tells him he will. 

Louis leaves without saying anything more. He’s reluctant though and keeps throwing Harry nervous looks. Harry gives him a reassuring smile before finally shutting the door. 

He manages to get himself into the shower, but it’s not without a great effort. He ends up just sitting on the floor of it as the water pours down on his head. He feels too weak to stand and when he coughs again there’s blood. He finds himself watching, still mesmerized by the way the water slowly washes the red down the drain. When his skin is pruny and wrinkled, he forces himself to get up and shut off the water. 

He gathers his old clothes and makes his way across the hall to Louis’ room, the only room he’s really acquainted with, to change. 

When he slides in, he’s startled to see Louis sitting anxiously on the edge of his bed. 

“Sorry-“ Harry mutters, his voice sore and thick. He gets ready to retreat back to the bathroom to dress before Louis stands up sharply. Harry swears he hears his intake of breath and Harry realizes he’s shirtless. He cringes, wondering what kinds of things Louis must be thinking seeing him bare like this. He doesn’t think twice before throwing his jumper on over his head, leaving him in that and a towel. 

“No, no, it’s okay,” Louis says softly. “I’ll go, you stay in here and change. You can rest too, if you want. Must not feel good, probably need some more sleep.”

And Harry smiles gratefully at the boy before him, looking so tentative. 

“Thanks, Lou. I feel much better though,” Harry lies. “Think I’ll just change, then head home.”

Harry swears he sees Louis’ face fall. But he smiles back quickly. “That’s good, glad you’re feeling better. I can give you a ride, yeah?”

The ride home is no where near as exhilarating as the ride there. Harry says very little, his voice hoarse and throat raw. Louis must remember the way to his house, because he pulls into Harry’s father’s driveway without once asking for directions. 

“Glad you came last night,” Louis says softly. He’s muddling with his fingers in the front seat of the car, staring down into his lap. “Sorry you got sick though. No alcohol next time, yeah?”

Harry’s heart flutters. Next time? 

Harry laughs nervously, refusing to comment, because that must have just slipped out. Surely Louis doesn’t seriously want Harry hanging around again. 

“Next time, we can just watch a film, have some dinner.”

Harry almost grimaces at the statement because he can’t have dinner with Louis. That would mean he would have to eat and then he would lose control and then he would have to purge. Tears threaten to surface in Harry’s eyes. Another reminder of why he would never be good enough for someone like Louis. 

“Well my dad’s probably waiting for me. I’ll see you later Lou,” Harry says, trying to sound less devastated than he really is. 

It’s hard to miss the hurt plastered over Louis’ face once again as Harry clampers out of the car. He thanks him for the ride once more before shutting the door and walking inside. 

________________

 

Harry’s dad is in a good mood thankfully. He ends up bringing Harry back to his mom’s that evening, clapping him on the back and promising to pick him up by Wednesday. His mom texts him, apologizing because she’s stuck in a double shift. So Harry spends the rest of the evening alone, reading an old novel and laying on his bed, thinking about Louis. 

Harry just feels really stupid. Because how could he let Zayn and Louis hear him? Why couldn’t he just control himself for one god-damn minute and not be such a fucking freak? God only knows what they probably think about him now. 

And even more troublesome, how could Harry let himself develop such a strong crush on Louis? Louis, who he could have been such good friends with. Louis who made him feel comfortable and at ease. Louis who Harry had thought maybe, just maybe, would tolerate him. But Harry knows himself. Knows how needy and emotional he can get. Knows he can’t just be friends with Louis because Louis makes him feel things that friends shouldn’t feel. And honestly, Harry isn’t sure if he’s strong enough to just be friends with Louis. Not when he knows he’ll never reciprocate those feelings. 

Eventually Harry dozes off with his legs hanging over the edge of his bed. 

When he wakes up, it’s dark outside and the house is still quiet. Harry knows his mom still isn’t home. He sits up, his head spinning slightly and his throat still burns from this morning. Harry fishes his phone out of his jumper pocket and squints when he sees five texts from Louis, the first two just saying that he hopes he feels better, the third saying he had a great time at the party with Harry, one asking if Harry’s okay because Harry hasn’t responded in four hours, and the last one sounding a little worried. Harry sighs, but doesn’t reply. His chest hurts. 

He falls asleep again for the night thinking about beautiful, blue eyes and soft touches.


	6. VI

Harry has to figure out a way to explain to his mom why his voice sounds so awful and why he feels so horrible, even after days of cough medicine, orange juice, and rest. His mom had been home for two days, off from work, and she hadn’t let Harry leave the dinner table without finishing his meal. Of course his voice hasn’t gotten better, of course his voice is raw. And even if the initial damage from the other day has healed up a bit, Harry had just made himself throw up again after dinner. But Harry doesn’t tell his mom that. He doesn’t tell her that he’s been having a harder-than-usual time at keeping the unpleasant thoughts that run through his head at bay. He doesn’t tell her that whatever sliver of sanity he had left seems to be slowly fading away. He doesn’t tell her any of that, because Harry is fine. Harry is always fine. 

It’s snowing and Harry’s mom had left the house for the first time in two days to start a double shift at the hospital. She bustles out the door in a rush, but not before making Harry promise to rest and drink lots of liquids. Harry is going to spend another day binge watching Netflix until his phone rings on his bedside. 

Harry fully plans on ignoring it, whether it be Louis (who Harry still hasn’t replied to), Zayn (who’s also been sending Harry daily texts asking him if he wants to hang out), or his mom. They’re really the only three who ever try to contact Harry, so he’s pleasantly surprised when his sister’s smiling contact picture shows up on his dimmed screen. 

Harry hasn’t seen Gemma since her semester at uni began in September, and considering it’s nearing the middle of December, it’s been quite a while. 

“Hey loser!” Her voice shines through the line. 

Harry smiles, “Hey Gem.” 

“It’s been way too long since I’ve seen that ugly mug of yours. Mom told me she’s got another double shift this weekend, so I was thinking you could come spend the weekend with me. My roommate’s heading home for the weekend, anyway, so it wouldn’t be a problem. You’d even have a bed,” Gemma pauses, waiting for Harry’s response, like he would actually say anything other than yes.

“That sounds great, yeah. ” 

“Cool, great-yeah. For the record, I wasn’t going to accept ‘no’ for an answer, but glad you agreed anyway.”

Harry chuckles through the line. “I could take the train,” he suggests. 

Gemma and Harry work out the details and times of his trip before she hangs up, promising to be at the train station when he arrives. 

Honestly, Harry is happy. He’s practically bouncing to his room, getting ready to pack his bag for the weekend, he’s thinks about dancing around his room briefly, but instead, he forces himself to calm down; it’s just a weekend away, just a visit with his sister. No need to be a freak about it. Harry shakes his head at how embarrassing he can be when he gets too excited about things. 

When he gets off the train in London, he sees Gemma waiting for him just like she promised. He doesn’t hesitate to run into her embrace. Gemma doesn’t push him away or tease him for practically sniffling into her sleeve. Instead she just tightens her grip around him, holding him together.

It feels so good. 

Gemma’s flat is huge and he wonders why he doesn’t visit more often. The living room is where they spend the majority of the day. It’s open and spacious and her couch is so comfortable, Harry wonders if he’ll ever leave, really. 

She only brings up the hoarseness of his voice once, and Harry’s grateful. It’s a nice substitute for his mother’s constant worrying. They spend all Saturday laughing and talking and just genuinely catching up, because it had been, to Harry’s dismay, almost three full months since they’d even talked. It’s so nice to sit down with his sister. Maybe not now, but there had been a time where she was the one person in the world who knew him best. Who shared all his secrets and understood how mad their dad could get sometimes. 

“Whatever you want to do tonight is fine,” she says after rinsing out the bowl of pasta that she’d made earlier (Harry had lied and claimed to have already eaten). “We can go out, we can stay in. It’s up to you, really.”

Harry shrugs. The mention of possibly going out makes his insides squirm with anxiety, but he doesn’t admit that to Gemma. “I don’t care,” he says instead. 

“Well if you don’t mind, I’d quite fancy a night in,” Gemma says. His chest practically deflates in relief. “As long as you don’t mind just chatting all night?”

Harry smiles widely back at his sister. “Could never mind that.”

The pair watch movies all night. Gemma makes popcorn and offers Harry to share more than once. He politely declines. He doesn’t much fancy puking in Gemma’s roommates’ toilet tonight. Gemma is pressed close to him on the couch and she’s laughing at whatever rom-com she chose to throw on the television. Harry thinks it’s quite funny. He laughs along with Gemma. It isn’t until about halfway through the plot when his phone starts to go off. At first it buzzes three times on the coffee table, a few minutes between each message. Harry sighs and opts to ignore it. But when a call makes it actually start to ring, he finally checks the screen and lets Gemma take a peak over his shoulder. 

“Who’s Louis?” she asks, nudging Harry’s side and smiling cheekily at him. 

Harry shakes his head and silences his phone before putting it back down on the coffee table. 

“You’re not gonna tell me?” Gemma asks. She places her hand dramatically on her chest, acting offended. “But Harry, I tell you all my deepest, darkest secrets and you can’t tell me who Louis is?” 

Harry shakes his head again, this time a smile forming on his lips. 

“No one,” he shrugs. He tries to act like it’s no big deal. But his face is betraying him. He thinks of Louis’ soft fringe and scruff. Thinks of his soft voice and innocent eyes. And no. Harry’s actually grinning. Thinking about Louis is making Harry grin. And that’s no good. The whole purpose of ignoring Louis was to help Harry stop thinking about him so much. Gemma’s looking at him strangely, so he tries to change his face into something more apathetic. She’s not fooled, of course, Gemma knows everything. He eventually comes clean, and tells her about Louis. Her face changes, she sits up straighter, and she stays silent, listening to every word Harry utters. Finally, Harry finishes. His hands rest in his lap, his eyes glued to their shakiness. 

“And you’re not texting him back, why?”

Harry pushes his lips together, fiddles with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. There’s a loose string dangling down that he can’t stop playing with. 

“I don’t know,” he breathes, twisting the fabric between his fingers. 

“You like him, yeah?”

Harry’s chest tightens. He’s never been very open about his sexuality. He’s never really talked to anyone in his family about crushes or feelings. When Harry was eleven and started to notice he liked boys a little more than the girls in his class, he kept it a secret. He buried it so deep inside of him. He never acted on his urges, never voiced the way he felt. But then again, he never really showed any interest in girls either. Could his family know? Harry wonders if Gemma knows he’s gay. No. Of course not. Gemma wouldn’t be sitting so close to Harry if she knew he was gay. She wouldn’t be looking at him with such kind, genuine eyes. She would be disgusted. She would probably slap him, yell at him, tell him to leave her flat. She definitely wouldn’t still love him. 

Harry doesn’t realize he’s blushing until Gemma says, “Aww, my baby bro’s got a crush.” Harry groans loudly before shoving her lightly away from him. And he only feels a little guilty when she dramatically falls back against the cushions.

All he can think is that she’s right. 

Harry picks his phone back up from off the counter and turns it over in his hand, the tips of his fingers brushing over the home button. The unread texts from Louis pop up, lingering until the messages slowly fade to black. Harry’s eyes remain down, staring at his own reflection through the screen, a knot forming in his stomach. Gemma seemed to sense her brother’s sudden unease. 

She reaches her hand out and gingerly touches his frail shoulder, gripping only slightly. 

“Talk to me bud,” she almost whispers. 

Harry sighs, the air pushing out of his lungs. 

“He doesn’t like me, Gem.”

“H, you’ve got like one hundred messages from the guy in the past, what, two hours? Of course he does.” She says is matter-of-factly. Like there’s no shred of doubt in her mind. But Harry knows better. 

“No, Gem, you don’t understand. Louis is like, so popular, he’s got all kinds of friends because he’s so kind and good to everyone. And he makes everyone laugh, and he’s really smart, like quick witted and stuff. He’s so fit, too. Like he loves football and he’s really good at it, he plays on this league with his school. He’s just-“ Harry stops and sighs again, looking back down to his phone. “He’s Louis, and even if he did like me, which he doesn’t. But even if he did, he’s way too good for me. And every time I talk to him, every time I hear his voice, I like him a bit more, and I just don’t want to get my hopes up just to fall.”

Harry’s shocked by Gemma’s expression when he finally looks up from his phone. She’s got a frown on her face, looking almost angrily at Harry. 

“You’re all those things too, Harry,” she says. 

Harry shakes his head, smiling instinctively to hide his embarrassment. 

“Stop Harry,” she breathes, her hand grips his shoulder again, “You are. You’re brilliant. You’re smart and you’re kind and you’re funny and you’re all those things too.” 

“You don’t understand, Gem,” Harry’s shaking his head again, refusing to accept her compliments. 

“I do, Harry. I do understand. You’re too hard on yourself. Just look at how hard he’s trying to get ahold of you. He obviously wants to chat. I’m just saying, if you really like him, give it a go.”

“It’s not like that, he just feels bad ‘cause he thinks I’m mad at him or something.” 

“Which means he cares,” Gemma says. 

“I just don’t get it,” Harry says so quietly, he’s surprised Gemma even hears him. 

“What don’t you understand?” 

“Why does he care? Why in the world would someone like Louis care about someone like me?”

Gemma sighs softly, her thumb rubbing circles on the inside of Harry’s shoulder, “You really don’t see how great you are, do you?”

Harry chuckles softly, “You’re my sister, aren’t you kind of obligated to say that?”

“While I’m sure it appears somewhere in the ‘Big Sister Manual’, that’s not why I’m saying that, H. I’m completely serious here. You’re like the best person I know.”

“I’ll just give him a quick call then, see what he wants?” 

“Sure, you can go in my room if you want some privacy,” Gemma motions towards an open door in the corner of the flat. Harry nods, appreciating her sincerity, and scoots himself off the couch with his phone clutched in his hand. 

Harry brings Louis’ contact up and lets his finger ghost over the call button for a moment. He isn’t sure why he’s so nervous to call Louis back. He’s talked to Louis over the phone before, so it doesn’t make much sense. Then again, not much about Harry’s life seems to make sense anymore. He takes a small breath before calling. The line rings and rings, giving Harry more and more time to think up ridiculous, yet horrifying scenarios in his head. What if Louis knows the real reason Harry was coughing so hard in the bathroom yesterday? What if he saw the vomit and was going to call Harry out on it? 

Harry almost sighs out in relief when he gets Louis’ voicemail. He listens as the familiar voice tells him to leave a message and he’ll get back to him, but Harry doesn’t. He hangs up instead. At least he tried, and now Harry was off the hook. Louis was probably ignoring him anyway— 

Harry’s marimba tune starts to ring throughout the room. He pauses and looks down. Louis was calling back.  
Harry swipes right before he can talk himself out of it. 

“Hello?” he cringes at the sound of his own voice, it’s still all raw and raspy. 

“Hey Haz,” Louis’ voice doesn’t sound much better. It’s all thick and heavy, almost like he’d been crying or something. He pauses, Harry swears he even hears a sniffle, before continuing. “I just wanted to check in, see how you were feeling.”

Harry clears his throat and nervously grips at the loose fabric of his sweatpants. His hand is unpleasantly clammy. 

“I’m feeling a lot better, must have just been the drinking and such.”

He hears Louis exhale lightly on the other end of the line. “Yeah, probably. Just have to take it easy next time, yeah?”

Harry lets out a throaty laugh, it’s forced and awkward and is barely audible, but it’s there. Louis laughs lightly too.

“Listen, I know this really good sandwich shop like maybe a block from my flat. It’s got Italians and coffee and baked stuff, too. Like scones and these amazing cinnamon rolls-“ Louis voice trials off, and Harry holds his breath. “Wanna grab lunch or tea, or coffee- if you’re a coffee person- I don’t know-“ Louis sighs again, “with me? Wanna grab lunch or tea or coffee with me sometime?”

Harry’s eyes are fighting back some uncomfortable wave of tears and he can’t be thinking straight because he’s blurting out ‘yes’ before he has time to overanalyze and fret like he usually does. 

“Yeah?” Louis mirrors, his voice sounds lighter, as he sighs out a breath of relief. 

“Yeah,” Harry repeats, slower this time. “I like tea, we could get tea.”

“Tea!” Louis pipes, “I love tea, I’d love to get tea. Maybe tomorrow? Unless you’re busy, then maybe we could—“

“Tomorrow’s great,” Harry interrupts. 

“Tomorrow then,” Louis says, a trace of bliss in his voice. 

When Harry hangs up, he feels lighter, less agitated. He sits at the edge of Gemma’s bed, holding his phone against his chest tightly. He lets himself smile, lets himself become overwhelmingly overcome by joy. He falls back against the bed, his curls bouncing lightly against his forehead and he smiles stupidly up at the ceiling. Harry has a date. An honest-to-god date. With Louis Tomlinson. 

The next morning is an array of chaos because Harry can’t figure out what he’s going to wear. He only brought a couple shirts to his sisters for the weekend, and none scream flattery in Harry’s opinion. 

He peels off another polo before groaning loudly, throwing the cotton back at his duffel and wrapping himself back up in his oversized sweatshirt. He exits the spare room and slides next to Gemma at the kitchen table. She nurses a cup of coffee gingerly between both of her hands. 

“That’s it, I’m just not gonna go. I don’t look good in anything I wear.” 

Gemma rolls her eyes, “And to think I’m the one mom calls dramatic,” she mumbles. Gemma sets her coffee mug down before rising. “Come on, loser.”

Harry follows Gemma to the spare room where she lifts his bag. She rests it on her bed before digging into it. She pulls out all the clothes Harry has, laying them out in front of her. “What’s wrong with this?” she asks, holding up a black, knit jumper. 

“That’s not too plain?” Harry asks, taking the sweater from his sister’s grip. 

“Harry, it’s tea, not the prom. No need to break out your ball gown today. That sweater’s nice. It’ll look good with the pants you’re wearing now, too.”

One outfit change, some hair gel, and a very stern lecture from Gemma about confidence later and Harry was walking towards a rather quaint shop about three block north from Louis’ apartment. Harry almost missed the train stop, due to a rather soothing nap he was immersed in, but luckily he woke up just in time to signal the stop. Harry was nervous. If he couldn’t tell from his heart fluttering in his chest, it was even more obvious in the slick moisture that kept surfacing on the palms of his hands. He wiped them against his pants one more time before entering the shop. 

Harry spotted Louis almost immediately. He was bent over the counter, his elbows holding what looked like the majority of his weight and he was smiling idly at the woman working. She was older, in her late fifties Harry would guess, and wore her graying locks in a hair net. Louis was clearly amused by whatever she was saying. Even from across the shop Harry could see the little crinkles that formed near Louis’ eyes whenever he laughed hard enough. 

Harry wiped his hands again. 

As he walked closer to Louis, Harry kept his head up and tried to regulate his breathing. No matter how many times Harry had tried to convince himself that meeting Louis for tea wasn’t a big deal, he couldn’t settle the butterfly in his stomach. Part of Harry dreaded this entire idea because he knew, logically, that nothing good would come of it. Harry would stare pathetically into Louis’ mesmerizing eyes, probably get lost in them if he was lucky, and would only end up getting hurt once Louis found out what a freak Harry was. Harry would be let down. He would start to care too much and everything would eventually crash and burn like it always does. 

But there was another part of Harry, a new unfamiliar part, that ached for more interactions with Louis. Despite all the fear and anxiety that plagued Harry’s mind, this part craved the sound of Louis’ voice in his ears and the peace that his presence brought in his heart. 

This part was having a hard time pleading a case at the moment. As Harry walked closer and closer to Louis, the only thoughts that raced through his mind were negative ones. Gemma lied, his sweater was ugly. What if his hair looked greasy? Did he remember to brush his teeth? Louis looked way fitter than him. What if this is all a big joke? What if this isn’t a date at all? 

“Harry!” Louis beckons once he sees the younger boy approach. 

He stood up straighter, taking the pressure off from his elbows and smiles brightly. 

Harry returns the smile without question or doubt. It was natural and genuine and it reached all the way to his eyes. Harry had forgotten how much he liked hearing Louis say his name. 

“Hey Lou,” Harry greets. His hands are shoved in his pockets and he rocks on the balls of his feet, facing the older boy. 

“Diana,” Louis starts, turning his body only slightly away from Harry. “This is Harry, Harry, this is Diana.”

The waitress behind the counter sets down a bottle of maple syrup and a dish towel before extending her hand outward. Harry removes his from his pockets to shake, and offers her an apologetic look for his hand being so clammy. He hopes she understood the message. 

“Hello,” Diana says sweetly. “Louis has already told me so much about you of course, but it’s great to finally meet you.” 

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Harry says lightly, a smile spreading across his face. The idea of Louis talking about him to another person was somewhat nerve-wracking. Sure, Harry had just spilled his heart and soul out to Gemma just a mere twelve hours before, but it was a little more intimidating imagining Louis doing the same. 

“Well you two have a nice lunch, let me know if you need anything,” Diana says sweetly. 

 

The two find a booth near the left side of the shop, lined with four identical windows. Harry stared at the dull gray scene outside, cars drove by leaving trails of smoke in their wake, people walked through the streets with their breath clouding the air and their hands shoved hastily in their pockets. 

Harry feels a little twinge in his chest, he’s still a bit nervous. It’s isn’t until Louis slides across from him in the booth with that all-too-familiar grin plastered over his face that Harry lets out a shaky breath. 

Louis only tenses for a moment before he lets his shoulders fall a bit, resting his elbows on the table in between them. Harry expects him to start questioning him about the unanswered texts or something, but he doesn’t. He just fiddles with the carton of jelly at the edge of the table and bites at the bottom of his lip.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks gently.

“M’alright,” Harry answers, his voice is still raspy.

Louis frowns slightly, “Throat still hurt then?”

“A little,” Harry says, shrugging, “I’m okay though.”

“I was worried you know,” he says shyly, he’s staring down at his hands, “Especially in the bathroom there,” he pauses briefly, “thought you were gonna pass out or something.”

Harry’s heart aches at the idea of Louis being worried about him. The thought of making Louis worry about something so trivial as Harry making himself throw up was detrimental. 

“I promise I’m okay, Lou,” Harry repeats, a little more sincere this time. 

Louis nods and lets his hands fall into his lap. His smile finds it’s way back onto his face and Harry can’t help but feel guilty for how he’s been treating Louis. It’s not his fault after all, not Louis’ fault that Harry can’t keep his emotions in check. He doesn’t deserve to be ignored when he’s been nothing but nice to Harry.

Harry is going to have to get his shit together. He raises his head and finds Louis with his head stuffed in the lunch menu. 

“I always get the same thing whenever I eat here. Every time I come, I say I’ll try something new, but then once I get here, all I want is what I usually order. How boring is that?” 

“Not boring,” Harry says, shaking his head. “Predictable.”

Louis smiles at that and folds his menu up on the table. “Predictable,” he agrees. He orders his usual. 

Halfway through their lunch, Louis is chewing on his sandwich and telling Harry a story about some crazy party Liam and him had thrown during their first year of college. Harry blows on his hot tea, the steam rolling off hauntingly as he laughs along. 

“It’s really no wonder I almost flunked. Between the partying and my whole gay crisis going on, I swear it’s a miracle I passed,” he chuckles softly. 

Harry’s slightly shocked. He looks up from his tea with a curious look on his face. He doesn’t push, doesn’t question Louis’ words. Louis takes the hint though and continues.

He laughs but its a gentle sound, not mocking, “I was a bit of a mess. I always knew, I think. But like, for the longest time I felt like there was something wrong with me. All my friends, like Liam and Niall, they were all taking about girls and their tits and I just wasn’t interested. And I mean, all I could think about was how the biggest insult was to call something gay. I knew that if someone called someone else gay, it was such a slam, and if someone was different they were going to get torn apart. I knew was different, I just thought I was supposed to keep my mouth shut about whatever it was. I knew that I couldn’t tell anyone. Then it’s crazy, but then I met Zayn. He was out and like- I can’t even explain to you how much I needed to see him be out, someone I respected so much, someone I knew. And just to see him just so proud of who he was. He would actually say it out loud and he wasn’t even ashamed. And I know it wasn’t easy for him and I know he got bullied about it, but he didn’t care. And it just showed me that it could be done. I saw how Zayn stuck through it, and I remember that time Liam beat the shit out of some kid for being rude once and I remember Niall just cussing out anyone who said a bad word about him and I saw how everyone handled it and Zayn was just- like proud still, and still, just like, himself. Nothing changed. He was still him.” Louis takes a breath and sips his tea. “I was so scared that if I came out, I wouldn’t be me anymore. Like I’d somehow adopt that gay stereotype and just become another label. But seeing Zayn, seeing how he was still him, that nothing changed- I just, I knew then that maybe I could do it too.”

Harry can’t even look at Louis. His eyes are wet and focused on his lap where his hands are twisting together. He doesn’t even know what to say. So instead he just tries to process is all, absorb it all in. Louis is gay too. Louis is gay and Louis is insecure sometimes. Louis is gay and proud and not ashamed at all. All Harry can think about is the fact that Louis came out and is actually thankful that he did, that Louis’ world didn’t fall apart.

“What did your family say?” Harry asks softly.

“Okay, I guess. My mum was amazing and my sisters were all great. They just told me they were proud of me and that they loved me no matter what,” Louis shrugs.

Harry nods. He’s happy for Louis, he really is. Harry wishes he could feel that way too, but he knows that will never happen. He knows how wrong he is, and wonders how his father would react if he ever actually came clean. He imagines the bruises that would appear on his skin. His stomach crawls and his wrists’ itch. 

“I’m really glad it worked out for you Lou,” Harry manages to say, forcing a smile.

Louis frowns though, “are you okay Haz?” he asks softly.

Harry clears his throat and attempts to make his smile more convincing, “Of course. I mean- like you didn’t have to explain all that to me, but I’m glad you did, and I’m glad you’re happy,” he says.

“What about you? Are you happy?” Louis asks quietly. 

Harry is shocked by his sudden question and hesitates before chuckling. “Yeah, of course I am,” he mumbles, but his eyes stay locked on Louis. Louis tries to meet his gaze and smile but he feels his chest aching. His eyes trace the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheeks, the stubble that is present because Louis hasn’t shaved in a few days. 

Louis’ eyes soften and he asks, “are you really?” his voice is so soft, “because I’ve seen you act happy, like in front of Liam and Sophia and Niall and stuff, like when we’re at the apartment and all laughing and together. And like, I think sometimes you really are happy, but then I see the way your eyes kind of droop when you think I’m not looking. And I see how you sometimes zone out, and I see the way your shoulders slouch and you try to make yourself look smaller.”

Harry kind of feels like he’s drowning slowly. He lets his fingernails dig into his wrists. Hoping that the pain will bring him back into the moment, but he can’t focus. He can’t think straight. His head is spinning and his world is crashing around him. 

He doesn’t understand why Louis is doing this to him, why he’s is trying to pull him apart. He doesn’t understand how Louis has seen past wall. No one notices Harry’s pain, no one asks if he’s happy, because Harry is so, so good at pretending that he’s okay. Or at least he thought he was. But with Louis poking and prodding and just noticing his pain, Harry thinks maybe Louis is just the only person who’s come along that’s cared enough to ask. Harry knows he should be telling Louis to back off, tell him to leave Harry alone. Part of him wants to leave, storm out of this stupid shop and make a bit of a scene. He feels the tears prickling at the back of his eyes and he hates himself for it.

“I’m fine,” he says slowly.

“I know I’ve only known you for a little bit, and I know I don’t know much about you besides you like weird bands and can’t take down alcohol. But I’m here, okay? I’m here and you don’t have to, but you can talk to me,” Louis speaks like he knows Harry could take off at any second. Harry debates on whether or not he should. 

“Why?” he asks, because thats all his voice can manage without betraying him.

“Because I think you deserve to be happy. I want to make you happy,” Louis says, his voice is strong and warm, and it makes Harry’s skin crawl.

“Where is this coming from?” Harry interjects- “I don’t-” Harry shakes his head, “I don’t need anyone to make me happy,” he laughs. He tries to make light of this uncomfortable situation. He thinks of his razor at home. Thinks about a new area that he could slice open. Thinks of the soothing stream of blood pouring down from his wrist. His head spins. 

Louis frowns, “I- I don’t think you needed saving or anything, Haz,” he stutters, “I’m not saying that- I just- I want you to be happy, is all. Because I know- I know you’re not.”

Harry kind of feels like his head is going to explode. “Lou- I don’t know what you want me to say- I don’t know what-,” Harry sighs, rubbing his eyes because he suddenly feels so scared.

“It’s okay Haz,” Louis soothes, he reaches his hand across the table and rests it on top of Harry’s. Their hands touch and Harry feels like fire has erupted in the patch of skin just under Louis’ palm. Then Louis brushes his thumb across Harry’s hand and he leaves a trail of sparks along the path. Harry’s breath catches in his throat when he looks Louis in the eyes, he can’t even get over how beautiful they are, how honest. 

“You’re really beautiful,” Louis whispers. 

Harry keeps his eyes focused and fights the urge to shake his head no. He’s not beautiful. He’s gross and fat and ugly and wrong. And no. He’s Harry, he’s not beautiful. But he doesn’t disagree, too terrified that if he moves, whatever is happening right now will stop. Harry lets out a shaky breath. He doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand. 

Their eye contact is broken when their waitress comes by with a fresh round of tea. Louis breaks away and shoves his hands under the table. Harry feels his eyes lingering on him while Harry watches his tea being poured into his cup for him. 

He sips at his tea quietly, and appreciates how it helps with the ache in his stomach. The warmth soothes the soreness in his throat but he feels kind of like crying. 

“Please don’t run,” Louis whispers. 

It’s so quiet, Harry barely hears, but he looks up into Louis’ eyes and they’re sad. It makes Harry ache more. 

“Please,” he repeats. 

Harry looks up into the big blue eyes, so full of sincerity, and it scares the absolute shit out of him. He has everything to lose. He’s barely holding on by a few strands of tattered thread as it is. 

He doesn’t deserve Louis. Harry knows that. The itch at the back of his throat and the marks on his arms remind him of that. He is shit and Louis will know that soon enough. Except maybe he doesn’t know quite yet. 

“Okay,” is all he can muster out, and the strings around his heart loosen again.

______________

 

Louis is smart and funny and loud. He makes Harry laugh almost constantly. He is vibrant and electric and sarcastic and bold. He is considerate and compassionate. He is witty and always so fun.

Harry’s promise to not run away has been increasingly difficult to keep.

And while Harry has grown immensely fond of the boy in the last few weeks (more and more each day, he might add), he can’t help but admit it’s all scaring the complete shit out of him. Some days, Louis drives up to visit with Harry at his mom’s house, occasionally he’s picked Harry up to hang at Liam and his flat for a few days. Aside from the one night Harry spent at his father’s house, the two have been inseparable. Harry’s never felt this way about anyone before. Harry’s never been this close with anyone before. It should be a good thing, a flourishing new friendship, a budding romance, a new adventure. Harry should be thrilled, and he is. He loves spending his days with Louis. It’s just that Harry hates lying to Louis equally as much. He’s found it increasingly difficult to cover up each trip he makes to the bathroom after meals. And while Louis is extremely comfortable with changing in front of others, Harry hates that he has to sneak away just to peel his shirt off. He hates lying to Louis. He hates every habit that’s making him lie to Louis. He hates himself for not being able to quit any of the habits.

Harry would like to say that being around Louis so much was helping him with things. He’d like to say that Louis had swooped in and saved him from himself. But that didn’t happen. In fact, if anything, Harry was shoving his finger down his throat more, and he was running out of space on his wrists for more cuts. Being with Louis was everything, and Louis was the most amazing person he’d ever met. But being with Louis made Harry hyper-aware of the fact that he wasn’t good enough. And so he tore himself apart more.

Of course Harry’s mum loves Louis. Harry thinks that it’s partly due to the fact that having Louis around means that he isn’t just home alone when Anne works at the hospital, but she’d never admit that.

Harry’s grown— well, sort of attached to Louis, and learned more and more about him each day. He learned that Louis has “no fucking clue” what he wants to do once he’s graduated. He always drinks a big glass of milk with his breakfast and leaves his pizza crust on the plate, uneaten.

He’s got a huge family back home. Harry can’t remember all of his sister's names but he's always talking about his mother, Jo. Louis always speaks so highly of his mother. How she works so hard and still has time to be the best mom ever. He keeps insisting to Harry that one day, the two of them will go back to Doncaster and Harry will get to meet her. Harry doubts Louis will keep him around long enough for that to happen, but he nods and agrees anyway. Louis hasn’t spoken about his father, yet. But Harry doesn’t like to poke or prod, so he leaves that one alone. God knows he wouldn’t want Louis asking about his dad either.

The one night they spent apart all week (Harry visits his dad that Wednesday) they still text almost constantly. Harry even set a special ringtone, so he knows when it’s Louis calling. They still talk about a lot of mundane things; they ask what the other one is doing, they talk about music, and TV shows. They even played this game where they asked each other different questions and had to answer honestly. Harry tried his best. But when Louis asked what Harry’s food was, he lied and said his mother’s famous shepherd’s pie. In his defense, that used to be Harry’s favorite food, but he hadn’t actually had it since he was little.

Harry’s dad was in a horrible mood Wednesday night. He barely spoke to Harry in the car ride over to his flat, which Harry took as an immediate sign of danger. For the first part of the night, his father stays shut in his bedroom, doing God-only-knows what. But Harry doesn’t mind, because he spends it in his own room, unbothered, and talking on the phone with Louis.

“It’s kind of weird not having you here tonight,” Louis says softly through the phone.

Harry’s propped up on his bed, his elbows digging into his mattress and his chin resting on his free hand. “I know,” he mumbles embarrassed.

“I feel like I have an actual routine while you’re around, and it’s gonna get all ruined and jumbled tonight.”

Harry smiled to himself. He often had a hard time accepting the fact that Louis cared about him. He tried not to be too attached and was constantly worried as coming off as a bother. He was still afraid of letting Louis completely in, only for Louis to realize how much baggage Harry actually was and drop him. Whenever Louis said things, like his routine being messed up without Harry there, it gave him a sliver of confidence that maybe Louis was actually really fond of Harry, but those thoughts faded rather quickly.

“Mine too,” Harry mumbled. “Trust me though, I’d much rather be there than here.”

Harry regrets saying that. He doesn’t want Louis to get any hints as to what actually goes on at his father’s house, so he quickly changes the subject. Louis doesn’t seem to notice though, and they continue talking for another half an hour about the newest Walking Dead episode.

Harry’s so emerged in his conversation that he doesn’t hear the drunken footsteps leading up to his bedroom door. His father doesn’t even bother to knock before barging in. Harry’s startled by the sudden interruption and spins around on his bed quickly. His father’s large frame is standing hauntingly in the doorframe and Harry’s heart sinks low in his chest.

“I gotta go-“ he cuts the conversation off mid-sentence, and before he can listen to Louis asking him what’s wrong and if everything was alright, he’s pressing the red button on his screen and shoving his phone in his pocket.

Harry closes his eyes tightly as his father pounds into him. He feels physically ill and emotionally drained by the time it’s all over. He lays with his pants still around his ankles and his shirt shoved up above his stomach long after his father has stumbled out of the room. Harry has his head cocked to the side, facing the wall, where he stares blankly for minutes, hours, days. Harry doesn’t know, it’s all the same, anyway. His mouth is slightly open and he’s probably drooling on himself, but what does it matter? He’s already spread wide open on his bed, cum drying on all sorts of places. He’s used up and dirty and disgusting, so what does it matter if he drools on himself too? Harry stares at the blank wall, and despite all the vibrations and rings that have come from the phone pressed against him, all he can really think about is how he doesn’t feel like a person anymore.

 

______________

 

Harry is always so surprised whenever Louis agrees to listen to some of the new music Harry’s found. Harry usually texts him a list of three to four songs a day, and Louis will listen to them and report back to Harry about what he thinks. Harry loves all kinds of different music. Some of it’s a little too weird for Louis’ liking, but generally, he enjoys whatever Harry sends him. Louis is so worried after Harry hangs up so abruptly on him. He can barely think straight. All he can do is send numerous messages, asking if he’s okay, but he gets no reply. After several of his calls also go unanswered, Louis decides to go through the list Harry had sent him for the day. He’s in the middle of listening to a song called Georgia, by Vance Joy when Louis’ phone goes off.

Harry (9:04 pm) Sorry for hanging up, everything’s fine. My dad just needed help with something.

Louis is relieved to finally hear from Harry. But he doesn’t believe a single word of his text.

Louis (9:06 pm) Don’t worry about it, just glad you’re okay.

Louis sighs and locks his phone again. He knows Harry is guarded and private. Louis knew it would be hard for Harry to open up to him, but Louis really thought he was making some progress.

After a couple of minutes, Harry still hasn’t responded, so Louis sends out a second text.

Louis (9:15 pm) Want me to call again?

He’s pretty sure he knows the answer already, but Louis can’t begin to imagine how hard it must be for Harry to be at his fathers. And sure, Louis’ dad can definitely be a dick, but he’s never hit Louis or anything. He wants Harry to know he’s here for him. And if Harry doesn’t want to talk tonight, that’s fine. But damn it if he won’t at least offer.

Like he suspected, Harry’s text comes in a few minutes later.

Harry (9:17 pm) I think I should just head to bed, sorry :(

Louis (9:17 pm) Don’t be sorry. rest up. see you tomorrow at your mums then?

Harry (9:18 pm) definitely :)

Louis’ bed feels empty without Harry next to him, but he falls asleep with Vance Joy’s album on repeat through his headphones that night, and Harry doesn’t feel all that far away.

______________

 

Tonight, Harry’s mom is leaving for a night shift at the hospital and Louis came over for dinner. Harry still feels bad for hanging up so abruptly on him the night before, but Louis hasn’t brought it up. He does keep looking Harry over though, which is odd. Harry pretends not to notice.

Harry’s in the midst of cutting his chicken into tiny pieces, making it look like he’s eaten more than he has, when Anne stands up to clear her plate. She dumps the remnants of her dinner into the trash can and bustles around the house looking for her coat and keys.

“You boys be good tonight, yeah?” she says, clearly flustered and running late (again).

Louis throws her a cheeky grin and responds, “You know us, Anne. Lots of partying and chaos. Alcohol, drugs, maybe some strippers if we’re really feeling it. Right Haz?”

Harry just laughs and Anne shakes her head before walking behind Harry and giving him a kiss on top of his head. “Well keep it down at least, make sure the strippers clean up after themselves.”

Louis doubles over and Harry can’t help but choke slightly on the water he’s sipping while trying to stifle a laugh.

All the joking and laughter gives Harry a chance to stand up and throw his plate away without anyone noticing he’s barely touched anything on it. Anne leaves the house with a wave and then it’s just the two of them. Harry takes Louis’ plate for him too, after asking if he was finished.

“I have an idea,” he says while bending over to put the plates in the dish washer. “How about instead of drugs and strippers, we watch a movie or something?”

“You read my mind, Curly,” Louis assures.

It's nice spending the evening curled up on the couch with Louis. They decide to watch Jurassic Park (Harry was appalled Louis had never seen it), and end up fitting in all three movies before Louis’ head falls on to the arm rest behind him and he starts breathing steadily. Harry sits for a bit with his toes curling underneath him and admires Louis’ sleeping face. He thinks he’s probably the more beautiful boy he’s ever seen.

Louis’ head is back at an awkward angle, his Adam’s apple poking up prominently. He inhales and snores loudly. Harry can’t help but giggle as Louis stirs himself out of sleep. “Wha- huh, did I fall asleep?” He wipes his eyes groggily and sits up, his hair poking in different directions.

“The movie just ended, how about we head to bed, yeah?” Harry asks, lightly tugging Louis’ sleeve between his two fingers.

Louis just nods, uncrossing his legs and peeling himself off from the couch. He’s still rubbing his face with the back of his hand as the pair make their way to Harry’s room.

They’ve both decided that sleeping together is far better than sleeping alone. At Louis’ apartment, despite the spare futon, the two sleep in the bed. At Harry’s, there’s really no other option, unless Louis wanted to sleep in Gemma’s bed or the couch.

Harry brushes his teeth and washes his face, dabbing it dry with a thick, fluffy towel. Once he returns to his room, Louis is curled up on the half closest to the window, his blue eyes gazing sleepily at Harry.

“m so tired,” he mumbles, shivering when Harry peels the duvet down so he can slide in. Once Harry’s situated on his back, his arm pulled lightly behind his head, Louis curls into his side, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder and letting his fingers trace Harry’s clothed chest lightly.

Harry’s still trying to get used to this. The small touches and actions of affection. He inhales sharply, but tries not to draw any attention to his slight discomfort.

“This ok?” Louis asks, drawing his hand back briefly.

Harry nods, already missing the feeling of Louis’ fingers on him. “Yeah, of course.”

“You smell nice,” Louis whispers, sniffing deeply.

Harry can’t help but chuckle softly. “I smell nice?”

“Yeah,” another inhale. “Like—“ Louis pauses, “lavender and,” another inhale, “vanilla.”

“Lavender and vanilla, huh?”

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs.

Within minutes, he’s fast asleep, breathing deeply, his hand clutching on to Harry’s shirt, like he’s afraid to let go. Harry keeps awake. His eyes heavy, but his mind active. He stays like that for a while, staring at his ceiling and listening to Louis breathe in and out. Eventually, his arm falls asleep and Harry decides to roll over, his back facing Louis. But after a moment or two in that position, he decides that isn’t comfy either, so he flips again. Harry tosses and turns in about every direction you can imagine, trying not to wake up Louis. He’s unsuccessful.

“You can’t sleep?” Louis asks in his deep, sleepy voice that Harry had grown so fond of.

“Not really,” Harry whispers. “Sorry for waking you, I’ll get up, you go back to sleep.” Harry starts to push himself off the bed with his right arm before he feels Louis’ rough fingers wrap around his wrist.

“No,” he whines, “stay, please.”

Harry stays sitting up, one leg on the floor, the other bent up on the bed. “I don’t want to keep waking you up,” Harry chuckles softly.

“No, it’s okay, I’m up-“ Louis protests. He slides up on his elbow, his eyes still half closed. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“Dunno. Just can’t.” What Harry doesn’t mention is that this actually happens all the time. Harry generally has trouble sleeping, and if he does get lucky enough to get some sleep, it’s often interrupted by nightmares and haunting images. Tonight, his mind was just too alert and unsteady to shut down.

“Should I sing you a lullaby? Maybe tell you a story?” Louis says fondly.

“Hm,” Harry contemplates how nice that would be in all seriousness, but assumes Louis is just joking, so instead laughs, “while that is very tempting, I’ll have to pass.”

“What a shame,” Louis hums, “some of my best lyrical masterpieces come to me while I’m groggy and only half awake.”

“Lyrical masterpieces, huh?” Harry teases.

“I write a little music,” Louis confesses, his face growing slightly more serious.

“Really?” Harry’s face lightens up like it always does when he learns something new about Louis.

“Not much, it’s not good or anything, but yeah.”

“That’s really cool, Lou,” he boasts, and he means it. “could I, like— maybe hear some of it sometime?”

Louis bites his bottom lip and looks up at Harry, “Yeah, sure Haz.”

Harry smiles down at Louis and let’s himself lay back on the pillow. This time Louis doesn’t curl up on his chest. Instead, Harry feels the bed shift as Louis shimmies his body up the bed until he’s sitting upright, his back resting on the headboard.

“What’re you doing—?” Harry asks, but Louis cuts him off with a sharp ‘shh’.

“Just close your eyes,” he says softly.

Harry reluctantly does. He almost sighs out loud when he feels Louis’ fingers lace through his hair and start rubbing his scalp. “Is this okay?” he whispers.

Instead of answering, Harry groans out in pleasure.

Louis chuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

Harry nods, keeping his eyes shut tight. Louis continues to massage his head. After a few minutes, he moves his fingers down towards Harry’s neck and rubs there instead. It takes about everything inside of him not to moan out loud, because not to Harry’s surprise or anything, but Louis was amazing with his hands. They were small, but he worked them in all the right places, and applied the perfect amount of pressure.

Harry’s mind started to quiet down without him even noticing. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep.

When he wakes up the next morning, his stomach is growling loudly. He opens his eyes groggily, rubbing them roughly with his knuckles. Louis is still asleep. He’s got his arm wrapped around his pillow, spooning it slightly. Harry smiles at that sight. He gets up quietly, trying not to make too much noise. He shuffles into the living room where his mom has returned from her night shift. She’s sitting on the couch, her elbows resting on her knees and her eyes looking exhausted. She’s still in her scrubs, sleepily watching the morning news.

When she sees Harry emerge from his bedroom she smiles brightly, immediately hiding her tired face. “Morning baby,” she coos.

Harry sits next to her on the couch greeting her in return. She opens her arms wide for him and he gratefully accepts, sliding into her embrace and letting her wrap him up in a comforting hug.

“How was work?” he asks.

“Busy. We had some knucklehead teenage come in drunk with a knife stuck through his hand around four in the morning,” she sighs, tightening her arm around Harry, “I swear every time we get a case like that, I’m so grateful I have you as a son.”

Harry smiles into her chest, appreciating her kind words, but silently feeling guilty. If only she knew how messed up and wrong he really was.

“You’re so good, so smart. Such a good boy,” she says softly, kissing the top of his head. “Is Louis still sleeping?”

Harry sits back on the couch and nods. He crosses his arm around his body and watches the program on the telly. The weather’s on, it’ll be rainy the next few days. Big surprise, Harry thinks.

“What are you boys going to do today?” His mom asks.

Harry thinks briefly, his stomach clenching uncomfortably under his hand again.

“Not sure yet, Louis probably won’t be up for a couple more hours anyway.”

Anne stands up, “Alright, well if you decide to go anywhere leave a note or text.”

Harry nods and his mom goes to her room to sleep for the day.

Harry continues to watch the news. He’s not paying much attention though. He just becomes so mesmerized by the flashing lights. Eventually, he can’t handle the feeling in his stomach and he gets up to the kitchen. Harry chugs two entire glasses of water and peels an orange. He eats a couple of slices until he’s finally feeling full.

He glances at the clock, and sees that it’s barely 7am. Maybe if he lays back down, he’ll fall back asleep for a couple of hours.

Louis has changed positions when Harry returns to the bedroom. Harry lifts the covers and climbs next to him, immediately feeling warmer. His stomach has settled and after a couple of adjustments, he immediately feels comfy. His eyes get heavy quickly and he’s fast asleep before his mind has time to race.

 

______________

 

Louis thinks about kissing Harry all the time. He thinks about it every night before he goes to sleep. He thinks about it in the morning when he wakes up. He thinks about it all day in between.

When he wakes up the next morning, his face just inches from Harry’s sleeping one, it’s the first thing that pops into his mind. Harry’s lips are so full, so pink. They’re parted slightly, his breath making his chest move steadily, rising and falling, in and out. Louis can’t stop staring. He’s probably being creepy. This is some a-grade stalker-shit, staring and admiring Harry’s lips while he’s fast asleep, but Louis really can’t help it. It really is Harry’s fault for being so beautiful.

Like he said, Louis thinks about kissing Harry all the time.

He’s been seriously considering toughening up and just doing it one of these days. He wants to, so bad. But Harry is fragile. Louis knows that. He’s barely gotten to the point where Louis can touch him without any flinches or panicking eyes. 

He’s timid around Harry. He tries to be as supportive as he can. He respects Harry too much to push him into anything.

But Louis also knows that Harry would never make the first move, even if he did want to kiss him back.

Harry’s slowly stirs and Louis doesn’t look away.

“Morning,” he says smiling.

Harry immediately smiles back, his green eyes shining. “Morning.”

“How’d you sleep?”

Harry fumbles a little, sliding up on the bed and checking his phone on the bedside table. “I slept really good, actually. Like really good.” He runs his long fingers through his curls. “What about you?”

Louis smirks, “I always sleep good next to you.”

Sometimes Louis says things like that, and he worries that he’ll go too far, maybe make Harry uncomfortable. He doesn’t ever expect anything in return, but Louis has always been the type to express his feelings outwardly. This time though, Harry smiles.

“Really?” he asks.

Louis nods, “I mean, I was voted ‘most likely to fall asleep in class’ in high school. I’m a notoriously sound sleeper, so don’t get too cocky.” He pauses, “but yeah, I sleep especially good with you.” Harry laughs next to him as Louis slides up the bed, swinging his feet onto the cold floor.

“Did you want to do something today? Like go somewhere?” Harry asks. He’s gathering his clothes in his arms, probably getting ready for his shower.

“Sure,” Louis agrees, scratching the back of his neck. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Maybe like a movie or something?” Harry shrugs, “I don’t care really, there’s a rink nearby, we could go skating, or shopping. Whatever you want.”

Louis nods, “Yeah, either. Or both. We could go skating then see a movie. Or go see a movie then skate. I’d rather not shop though, poor uni student here” he smiles.

“Cool, I’m just gonna shower real quick, then we can go?”

“Sure thing,” Louis says, still laying in bed and still smiling widely.

 

______________

 

Harry showers as quickly as he can. For once, he’s actually excited for the day and what it could hold. He’s always been shit at ice skating, and he’s not even sure if any good movies are playing, but that doesn’t matter much to him. He just slept really well, and he’s feeling so refreshed, and Harry is just really happy that he gets to spend another full day with Louis.

They both decide that skating then the movie is the better option, so after Harry scribbles out a barely legible handwritten note for his mother, the two of them climb into Louis’ car and head to the rink. They both have to rent skates once they arrive. It takes Louis a couple of tries to find a pair that fit, but when he finally does, he’s literally doing circles around Harry.

“I told you I wasn’t very good,” Harry mumbles, embarrassed as he wobbles across the ice. Louis is a natural, he doesn’t even skate, he glides. He makes it look so effortless. Harry hates it.

“You’re doing fine, Haz!” Louis encourages. “Just move your feet, watch me.” Louis skates backwards, in front of Harry. He doesn’t even look down at his feet. Instead, he continues making eye contact. Show off.

Harry tries to watch his feet, he even thinks he’s getting better for a brief moment. Until he hits a snow clump and falls. It’s not a graceful landing. He flies forward with full momentum and practically face plants.

“Woah, woah!” Louis says, rushing towards Harry and bending over. “You okay?”

Harry nods, grudgingly, before using his arms to push himself up. “m fine,” he grumbles.

“You’re so clumsy, babe,” he chuckles. He grips Harry’s arm and hoists him up. Harry wobbles a bit once he’s back on his feet, but manages to steady himself, with Louis’ help. “Let’s just take it easy, yeah?” he smiles cautiously at the younger boy.

“Yeah, sounds good, yeah—“

Louis laces his fingers with Harry’s and gives a reassuring squeeze before they make their way around the rink for another lap. It’s the first time they’ve actually held hands. Harry likes the way it feels. And to his surprise, he’s really not that scared today.


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual abuse warning.
> 
> im getting better at updating yay

It becomes a thing. At least for the remainder of that day. Whenever Harry and Louis walk side by side, Louis immediately reaches out and grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together, offering gentle squeezes, a stroke of the thumb. At first it’s timid, neither one sure or confident. But by the time the two are walking the length of the street to the movie theater, hand-in-hand, it feels so natural, so right. Harry can’t help but notice how well their palms fit together or the fact that their fingers have just the right amount of room when they’re intertwined with Louis’.

“I’ll watch it, of course I’ll watch it,” Louis huffs, “I’m just saying, romantic comedy’s haven’t been a favorite of mine in the past.”

The two were discussing which film to see as they walked down the street. The sun had set, leaving a chilly night air in it’s wake. Harry’s fingertips were absolutely freezing, but he refused to let go of Louis’ hand in order to bury it in his pocket.

Harry rolls his eyes, “I don’t want to see something you won’t like.”

“It’s fine, love. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“No Lou,” he whined, “I’ll enjoy anything, how about you pick?”

Louis chuckled. “We’ve got to be about the most indecisive couple of lads in the entire world.”

Harry sticks out his lower lip and gazes ahead as the movie theater comes into sight. The titles were all written on the sign overhead and they were running out of time to choose.

“Alright, alright,” Louis laughs, “I’ll choose yeah?”

Harry nods, honestly relieved. When Louis asked him what he wanted to see, he didn’t hesitate to say the newest romantic comedy that had just come out. Originally he and Gemma had plans to see the film together, but Harry knew he wouldn’t mind seeing it twice. As soon as Louis let out a bustling laugh though, Harry regretted not keeping his mouth shut. A romantic comedy, how stupid of him. Louis probably thought he was some sort of girlie freak.

When they approach the ticket booth Louis let’s go of Harry’s hand to pull out his wallet. Harry was about to do the same when Louis swatted his hand gently.

“Put that away, I’ve got it love,” he offers Harry a soft smile. Harry’s heart flutters.

“Two for Love and Other Drugs,” Louis orders.

“Lou-“ Harry interjects, “What’re you doing? I thought you were picking something else.”

“Hush Harry, now that you’ve told me the premise of the film, I’ve got to see it, haven’t I?”

Harry bites back a smirk, watching as Louis takes the tickets from the man behind the counter and pockets his wallet. As soon as his hand is free, he reaches it out and wiggles his fingers as an indication for Harry to latch on. He does while following Louis the rest of the way into the theater.

The movie is good. And Harry isn’t the only one who thinks so. Louis laughs throughout, and whenever Harry steals a glimpse of the other boy, his face is glued to the screen, looking so engaged in whatever scene was taking place.

Harry watches as Louis finally sets his empty bag of popcorn down on the floor and let’s his hand fall to the arm rest between them. Harry glances over, their hands just inches apart, and waits for Louis to grapple on. But he doesn’t. And it’s agonizing. Harry supposes he could make the first move for once. But he stops himself. What if Louis doesn’t want to hold his hand? What if he’s sick of holding Harry’s hand and pushes him away? Harry fights the urge, can practically feel his hand vibrating on the arm rest as he bounces back and forth on what to do. Just do it, he says to himself. But he can’t. Harry is physically frozen in place, so conflicted as his arm feels like it weighs more than he can lift.

God, Harry, just do it. 1..2…3… Harry doesn’t think anymore. Instead he uses everything inside of him to slide his hand over until he feel’s Louis’ skin and without looking, he snakes his fingers underneath Louis’ palm and laces their fingers together. As soon as they’re holding hands, Harry let’s out a choppy exhale and he realizes he’d been holding his breath. He notices Louis look over in his peripherals. He’s pretty sure he’s smiling at him, but Harry stares straight at the screen, biting back a cheesy, pathetic grin that Louis always manages to bring out.

Harry’s glad that he had plans to see the movie again with Gemma, because he’s too preoccupied with Louis’ thumb running up and down the length of his skin to pay any attention to what’s going on. At one point during the film, Louis pulls the arm rest up and slides daringly close to Harry’s side. Their clasped hands rest on Harry’s leg, causing a jolt of energy to run through his entire body, but with the burn settling deep in his crotch. He wiggles in his seat a little uneasily, hoping Louis doesn’t notice. But for the first time, he’s not uncomfortable. And he doesn’t want Louis to move.

They stay like that during the credits. As people file out of the theater, talking about the film and disposing of their garbage in the rubbish bins, the two remain.

“What’d you think?” Louis asks once the chatter disperses and they appear to be alone.

“I liked it,” Harry lied. He didn’t dislike it of course. He just couldn’t tell Louis or anyone else anything other than maybe one line or two.

“I did, too,” Louis says. “At least I think I did. After you grabbed my hand, I couldn’t concentrate on much else.”

Harry’s words get stuck in his throat as Louis says exactly what he was thinking. Harry idolizes Louis for his honesty and his bravery. Harry takes a deep breath and figures he’ll try to be a little bit more like Louis.

“Me too,” he whispers. He can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks as his embarrassment grows.

“Harry,” Louis breathes, tugging on his arm for him to turn his way, “I really want to kiss you.”

Harry stares right into Louis’ eyes. Despite the knot growing in his stomach, he forces himself to stay strong.

“You do?” he asked, feeling doubtful.

Louis hums. “Is that okay? Can I kiss you, Haz?”

Harry’s self-depreciating doubt seeps in. He tries to swallow the negative thoughts. The ones telling him he’s not good enough for Louis, that he never will be. The ones telling him that he may have Louis fooled now, but soon enough, he’ll find out how horrible Harry really was. Not yet though, Harry fights back. Louis doesn’t know yet, and as Harry stared into those captivating cerulean eyes, he knew he needed this, needed him.

Harry bites his lip anxiously, not giving his mind any more time to talk himself out of it, and nods.

It takes Louis less than a fraction of a second to lean forward, but he’s gentle about it. Everything Louis does seems to be graceful, and the kiss was no different. His lips press against Harry’s with ease, they’re soft and light, like they’re barely even there. And Louis tastes exactly how Harry had imagined, like spearmint and frost all rolled together. He inhales sharply, his senses completely taken over by Louis, Louis, Louis.

“That alright?” Louis asks, pulling back.

All Harry can do at first is stare, completely mesmerized by Louis and everything he was. His eyes so gentle and concerned with Harry’s wellbeing in the moment and his lips so pink and lush. Harry nods feverishly.

By now the lights in the theater had come on and everyone had left. Louis smiles widely before breaking away. He picks up his drink and popcorn off the ground and stands up. Harry follows suit. He stands up a bit too quickly, his head immediately becoming dizzy. His stomach was uncomfortably empty as Harry realized he hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday’s dinner. He grabs the arm rest of the chair he’d been in and plays his unsteadiness off as sitting too long.

Louis doesn’t question it as they make their way out of the theater.

Harry inhales the cool night air once they step outside and instantly feels a bit better. It also helps when Louis immediately grabs his hand as soon as his jacket is zipped.

“I don’t want this night to end,” Harry admits as they stroll down the street.

“It doesn’t have to yet,” Louis says, “Look over there- is that a bar or something?” Louis points across the way to a lit up building with loud music coming from inside. “Wanna go?”

Harry nods instantly, realizing he’d go anywhere with Louis.

“I’m not letting you drink though, alright? Not after what happened after my party.”

Harry almost forgot about the lie he told Louis to cover up his purge. He chuckles and plays along, “No, no alcohol for me.”

Louis leads the way across the street, practically dragging Harry behind him. Only when they’re in the door frame of the pub are they side-by-side again. Harry gives the place a good look around from the entrance. The place looks rather deserted for such a bustling street. Other than a couple of people hunched over the bar and a lad sat in a back booth, the place was empty.

“Hm,” Louis frowns, clearly coming to the same conclusion. “Not much of a party is it?”

Harry had opened his mouth to respond when something stopped him dead in his tracks. The man in the back booth raised his head at the sound of new arrivals, his familiar eyes landing directly on Harry and in that moment, he forgot how to breath. Harry’s dad raised the glass of bourbon in front of him to his mouth and washed it away in one gulp before looking down at Harry and Louis’ joined hands. Harry’s mouth suddenly felt so dry and his stomach so ill. Without thinking he pulled his hand away from Louis’, never looking away from his father. He saw. There was no doubt in Harry’s mind that he saw. And what did Harry expect? He was out in public, holding another boy’s hand. Everyone saw. Everyone knew. But now he knew. Harry could feel the panic starting to overcome his entire body, but he couldn’t run. He just stood in place, shaking, waiting for his dad to come over and punish him.

But he didn’t. In fact, other than the initial glance, he didn’t acknowledge Harry’s presence at all. It didn’t put Harry at ease though.

He had to get out.

“Harry?” Louis’ voice snapped him back into reality. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“I need to go-“ Harry muttered. He’s not even sure Louis’ heard him before he’s turning on his heels and rushing out of the bar. All he could think was, he knows.

“Harry stop!” Louis calls after him. Harry realizes he’d been fast walking, without waiting for Louis, down the street. “Wait!” Louis pleads.

Harry, against his will, stops. With his hands buried deep in his pockets and his gaze staring down at the ground, he hastily waits for Louis to catch up.

Louis stops in front of him, slightly out of breath, and pauses.

“What happened?”

But Harry can’t comprehend his questions right now. His mind is consumed with so much shame. How could he do this? How could he be holding hands with another boy? How could he have kissed another boy? And how could he let his dad see?

Harry doesn’t move. He stays staring at the same crack in the pavement as Louis continues to pry.

“Harry, c’mon, talk to me. Please.” He reaches forward then. A tender gesture, “What happened?” he asks as he gently touches Harry’s forearm.

Harry pulls away harshly. “Don’t-“ he panics. What if his dad was watching them now?

“Harry-“ Louis retracts his hand, and while Harry can’t see the pained expression on his face, he can hear it in his voice.

“Don’t touch me, Louis.”

“Okay,” Louis says softly, “I’m not going to touch you, Harry. Just tell me what happened, love.”

“Don’t call me that!” Harry pleads, finally looking up. “I can’t do this.”

Louis’ face visibly falls. The light in his blue eyes turns to a dull gray and his brows furrow. “Harry, I don’t understand-“

“I can’t do this- it’s wrong!” Harry can’t hold back the tears that fall. His voice becomes choked.

“It’s alright, Harry. Let’s just go home, we can talk, okay?” Louis tries to remain calm, but Harry can hear the panic behind his words.

“No,” Harry sobs. He takes a step away from Louis as he frantically runs his hands through his hair. “No- I can’t do this.”

“Harry please,” Louis says as he steps closer to Harry.

“Just leave me alone, Lou,” Harry whispers. “Just leave me alone.” With that, he turns on his feet and hurries down the street praying that Louis doesn’t follow.

______________

When Harry arrives home that night, he’s frantic. He can barely hold his key steady enough to unlock the door as his hands shake violently. Once he’s finally inside and met by nothing but the hum of the fan going in his own bedroom, he let’s himself truly breakdown.

Harry can’t even think straight as he sobs hysterically in his own living room. Harry was gay. Harry was gay and now his father knew. Harry couldn’t imagine how he’d be punished. The things he got just from his dad’s suspicions were bad enough. But now? Now Harry really deserved to be hurt.

His chest hadn’t felt this tight since he’d been seeing Louis so often. But tonight, Harry couldn’t breathe. He dragged himself to the bathroom, not even bothering to lock the door, and pulled out his razors from inside the cabinet. Harry sliced his skin in a frenzy, feeling the layers break, and watching the blood ooze out. He felt no relief, so he cut again. And again, and again. Harry cut and cut and cut until his arm was covered in fresh wounds. He cut until his head grew woozy. He cut until he could breathe again.

______________

Harry knew his mother would be home in the early morning, so he did his best to clean up the blood that had fallen into the bathroom sink. He wipes the puddle that had collected on the floor as well. But he didn’t bother covering up his own arm. He just loosely wrapped it in a towel and dragged himself to his bedroom, where he shut and locked the door.

Harry collapsed onto his bed face first and stared blankly ahead. His eyes felt heavy from all the crying, but he couldn’t will himself to close them.

The truth was, he couldn’t stop thinking about Louis. The way his face fell when Harry backed away. The way his voice sounded, so broken and disappointed. Harry knew things would fall apart. He knew it wouldn’t work out. But he tried anyway. He couldn’t believe how selfish and inconsiderate he was. Louis may be upset now, but Harry found comfort knowing that Louis deserved better than himself. Louis deserved someone who was good. Someone who didn’t lie or freak out all the time. Someone who was brave and confident and sure of themselves. Harry was none of those things. Harry was nothing.

The throbbing in his arm faded away, replaced by spinning walls and heavy eyes. Harry finally willed himself to shut them, his uneven, shaky breathes turning steady as he finally drifted off into a deep sleep.

______________

By the time Louis’ unlocking the door to his flat, his eyes were puffy and his cheeks were stained with the tears that fell the entire walk home. He didn’t bother to be subtle about things as he slammed the door shut, causing Sophia and Liam to both snap their heads in his direction. Louis ignores their obvious stares and focuses instead on kicking his shoes off. The first one slides off easily, but as he tries the other foot, he finds it more difficult, even stubs his bare toe in the process

“Fucking hell-“ he mutters, growing more and more angry by the second. “Stupid fucking shoe-“ When it finally comes free he kicks it hastily against the wall before throwing his keys on the countertop.

“Lou, what’s wrong?” Liam asks genuinely, muting the episode of Graham Norton playing on TV.

Louis was rarely one to hide what he felt, especially with his closest friends. He was the type that needed to process things out loud in order to better understand, and therefore cope. But he feared that if he opened up about what had happened between he and Harry that evening, he’d break down crying again like he did in the streets.

He sat in the chair left of the couch and buried his face in his hands. He took a couple of deep breathes before sitting up.

“I fucked up,” he admits quietly.

“What happened?” Sophia asks softly as she slides to the edge of the couch, looking intently at Louis.

He bites his lip, feeling so ashamed and hurt and stupid all at once. “I kissed Harry.”

Sophia and Liam both continue to stare at Louis as if there’s more to the story.

“I kissed Harry and I ruined everything.”

“Did he not kiss you back?” Sophia asks.

Louis shakes his head, “He did. Or I thought he did- I thought he wanted to. I asked if it was okay, and he said it was, but I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have pushed him.”

“Lou-“ Liam shakes his head, “you’re not making any sense. If he kissed you back, what’s the problem?”

Louis shakes his head, unsure whether or not he can tell the story coherently. Every word, every detail, every facial expression was flashing through his mind. The pained look on Harry’s face as he told Louis to leave him alone was enough to make Louis start to tear up again.

He took a deep, steadying breath before speaking. “I kissed him at the theater, and it all seemed fine. Harry said he didn’t want the night to end, so I suggested we stop at a bar. We couldn’t have been there longer than a few seconds and he just started freaking out- like proper ran out into the street. I can’t explain it. I don’t know what happened.” Louis was now painfully aware of the tears falling down his face yet again. It felt almost mundane by now. “He told me he couldn’t do it. When I asked him what was wrong, he just insisted I leave him alone. I don’t know what happened-“ he choked. “But I know I fucked it all up.”

“Oh Lou-“ Sophia says sympathetically. She reaches across the gap between them and grips his forearm reassuringly. “Lou, you didn’t do anything wrong-“

“I pushed him!” he cries, Sophia and Liam just a blur in front of him through his tears. “I didn’t even know if he was into me and I pushed him!”

“You didn’t push him into anything, love.” She soothes, “You asked him if it was alright, you said he kissed back. Plus you said it wasn’t until later at the bar that he got upset. Did something else set him off?”

Louis pauses for a moment. She had a point. Harry seemed fine, no… better than fine- Harry seemed happy after the kiss. And he held his hand the entire way down the street afterwards, too. It wasn’t until they reached the bar that he started to panic. Louis racks his brain for what might have caused his hysteria, but he comes up empty.

“I don’t know what happened,” he repeats.

“Louis, there’s something I have to tell you,” Sophia starts.

When Louis blinks, his tears fade and her nervous face comes into focus.

“About the night Harry came home with me-“

Louis stares back, confused.

“He was at the restaurant with his dad that night. I served them both. And his dad got really drunk and started making rude comments to me about getting Harry laid, like it was some God-forsaken mission of his. When I shut it down his dad came after me. Like lunged at me- and Harry stopped him. He pulled him away and tried to get him to leave, but his dad started wailing on him, Lou. Right there in front of everyone. He didn’t stop until a couple customers dragged him away.” Sophia wiped away the tears in her eyes, “That’s the reason I brought him back here.”

Louis stares back, his mouth open in disbelief. That’s where the cuts and bruises came from. Louis wasn’t stupid. He knew Harry’s insistent comments about falling down were a load of bull. But he never assumed they came from his own father. Louis’ stomach churns at the thought. He thinks of the amount of times Harry’d been at his father’s house since Louis had known him. How many other times had he been hit or abused? Louis could be sick.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he gasps. “How could you not tell me?”

“We didn’t feel like it was our place,” Liam chimes in.

Louis’ head turns to him, “You knew?”

Liam nods solemnly.

“Jesus Christ- Did everyone know Harry was being hit besides me?”

“Li’s right, Lou. It wasn’t our place to tell you. We thought Harry would eventually.”

“I dropped him off there! I let him go there! How could you not tell me?!” he bellows, the anger any guilt of not protecting Harry all mixing up inside of him.

“All I’m saying-“ Sophia says, gripping Louis’ forearm again in a reassuring manner, “is that Harry clearly has a lot going on right now, Louis.”

Her wide eyes stare into Louis’, forcing him to calm down.

“You can’t blame yourself for Harry feeling overwhelmed. Harry’s a guarded person. It doesn’t take a genius to see that. He pushes people away when he gets scared.”

“What’s your point?” he snaps.

“My point is don’t let him.”

Louis’ face softens, his chest aches. “It’s not that easy- he doesn’t want me.”

“But he needs you, just as bad as you need him. Don’t give up on him that easy. Give him some time, but talk to him. Find out what happened.”

Louis nods, hating how intuitive and fucking smart Sophia really was.

“You got a keeper Payno,” Louis chuckles before standing up.

“You’re telling me,” Liam smiles as he scrunches his nose adoringly at Sophia.

“You flatter me boys,” she sighs.

Louis scoots off to bed shortly after, but he doesn’t sleep. Instead he lays on his back staring blankly at his ceiling, and wonders what Harry was doing. Wonders if he was safe. Wonders if he was lonely. Wonders if he missed Louis as much as Louis missed him.

______________

 

When Harry wakes up the next morning, it’s to his dismay that it’s a Wednesday. Which meant at 3 o’clock, his father would be picking him up for the night. Harry hadn’t given himself much time to process what had happened the night before. He was too overtaken by emotions to really properly analyze the amount of deep shit he was in.

He stayed in bed well after waking up, staring up at his ceiling thinking about Louis and how much he must hate him by now. On one hand, it hurt. In fact, Harry’s entire chest ached with the idea of Louis resenting the very idea of Harry. But on the other hand, it was a relief that Louis finally knew the truth about what a disappointment Harry was.

He thought about their kiss. How it felt a bit like taking a deep breath of air after holding it for so long. He thought about how soft Louis’ lips felt against his own, how they moved in unison. Harry thought about how safe he felt beside him at the theater. How the only thing that mattered was the way Louis’ thumb stroked his skin. How excited and alive he felt.

Harry mentally progressed through the night, reminiscing on all the happenings of the evening leading up to the catastrophic event that was sure to ruin everything. The minute Harry thought of his dad, his stomach dropped. All the hopefulness and excitement he felt from thinking of Louis faded away in an instant. It was sort of ominous the way he ignored Harry’s presence. For a moment, Harry wondered if he even noticed it was him. But Harry just knew that he did. He felt it in his chest.

A soft knock on the door drags Harry out of his daydream. Only when he sits up in bed does he realize how sore his arm his. It’s still coiled up in the towel he’d snagged from the bathroom. He removes it, cringing as dried blood that had stuck to the material tugs at his skin.

Harry hurries to grab a jumper off the floor before answering the door.

“Morning, love.” His mother greets with a gentle smile. She’s got her dark blue scrubs on. She pokes her head around his body to look inside his bedroom. “No Louis?”

Harry shakes his head, offering no other explanation.

“Oh- well, I wanted to see how yesterday went.”

“Fine,” Harry lied.

She nods, taking the hint that Harry wasn’t in the mood for talking.

“Good. Well, I’m off to bed then. I have my last shift this week tonight. You’re going to your dads then?”

Harry nods, his stomach churning at the mere mention of it.

“Good, I’ll pick you up in the morning then.”

“Sounds good,” Harry says, bracing himself against his doorframe.

His mother offers him a soft smile before turning towards her bedroom.

Harry crawls right back into bed after she’s gone, figuring he had nothing better to do until 3 o’clock. He grabs a pair of headphones from his bedside table and plugs his phone in, shuffling some sad playlist he made weeks ago. He lets the words speak for him, wrapping up in his covers and fading in and out of sleep all morning.

______________

 

Harry waits outside until 3:45 before his dad finally pulls into the drive. He’s got his sunglasses and a blank expression on his face as Harry slides uneasily into the passengers seat.

He doesn’t say a word the entire ride to the flat. No conversation, no music. Normally, Harry wouldn’t mind the silence. But because he knew what underlying secret lay thick in the air, he was squirming with shame.

His dad continued the silence all the way to the front door.

It was an eerie evening. Harry and his father exchanged no more than five words each through dinner. Normally, Harry would’ve been thrilled. But he knew what lie ahead. As soon as his father cracked open the bottle of gin, Harry knew it was a matter of time.

He kept to his bedroom, listening to the sports game that he could hear through the thin walls. Harry sat on the edge of his bed, his fingers clasping onto the thin sheets anxiously. He almost jumped out of his own skin when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Louis (9:03pm) Hey Haz, I know you wanted me to leave you alone, and I’m trying. Just wanted to make sure things were okay. I’m here if you need anything xx.

Harry felt a pang in the center of his chest. After everything he’d put Louis through, he was still reaching out and offering Harry his support? Harry’s finger lingered over the reply button, wanting nothing more than to type back, “I need you,” or something desperately along those lines. But he refrains. Harry was wrong to feel that way. At least about Louis. He needed to remember that.

Shortly after, Harry heard hauntingly slow footsteps growing closer and closer to his door. He buried his phone inside his pocket and tried to brace himself for whatever was to come.

When his father opened the door, the first thing Harry noticed was how bloodshot his eyes looked. Red veins struck across his scleras.

“Did I raise you to be gay?” his father asked quietly, leaning against the doorframe. Harry pinched the fabric of his sheeted between his fingers sharply, wondering if this was a trick question. “Answer me!” his father snapped.

“No,” Harry immediately whispered.

“No,” his father repeated. “Then why- Why did I see my own goddamn son, out in public, holding hands with a fag?”

A hot flash of anger shot through Harry when his father used such a harsh word to cxatorgize Louis. It was one thing for his father to shoot Harry down, to call him a fag, but Louis? Harry wouldn’t stand for it.

“Don’t call him that,” Harry said, looking his father straight in the eye.

“What did you say to me?” he asked menacingly, taking a step forward.

“I said-“ Harry cleared his throat, “Don’t call him-“ Harry was unable to finish his sentence as a hand shot up and slapped him across the face. His head whipped to the side, the stinging in his cheek immediately bringing tears to his eyes.

“Don’t you fucking tell me what I can and can’t say,” his father roared, taking another step closer. This time he’s reaching his hand around Harry’s neck, pulling him off the bed and shoving him up against the wall. “Do you hear me?”

Harry’s nodding desperately. He brought his hand up to his father’s arm, trying to pull him away as he desperately gasped for air. His father brought him forward slightly, before shoving Harry’s body back against the wall again, his head colliding with the foundation. “You selfish,” he brought Harry forward. “Piece,” slammed him back again. “Of,” Forward. “Shit.” Back. Harry’s head spun, his mouth dry as he continued to gasp for air. His father released him then, and Harry crumpled to the floor, choking and heaving as he inhaled wretchedly.

“Do you know what that did to me?” his father sneered, grabbing Harry by the scruff of his shirt and hauling him up. “Do you know what seeing my own son out in public holding hands with a fag did to me?”

Harry shook his head.

Just as his did, Harry was struck, presumably by his father’s fist, in the nose.

“Of course you don’t,” his father wound up and hit him again, in the exact same spot. Harry could feel the blood start to drip from his nostril. “You don’t think about anyone but yourself, do you boy?”

“I’m sorry-“ Harry gasped.

“You’re sorry? You’re fucking sorry?” his father shook his head. “I’ll show you sorry. Take ‘em off.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut.

He recoiled as his father offered him another blow to the face, this time the eye. “I said, take them off.”

Harry hurriedly started to fumble with his pants, panicking as the buckle took him a second to undo. Once Harry let his trousers fall to the floor, his father whipped him around, pressing his face into the wall. Harry’s cheek was squished and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to prepare, once again, for what was to come. He listened for the sounds of his father’s buckle to be undone and waited for his punishment.

The pain of his father pushing into him was sharp. It felt like he was being split open. But he bit his lip and kept his mouth shut, realizing it was nothing compared to the ache inside of him. His father took his time, lasting twice as long as usual. He gripped Harry’s hair tightly, and dug his fingers harshly into his shoulder. Harry knew there’d be bruises. "You like this, don't you? Like this 'cause you're a fag."

When he was finally done spasming inside of Harry, his father pulled his pants up and ordered Harry to do the same.

“Now, get the fuck out of my house,” he commanded.

“Wha-what?” Harry stuttered, unsure if he was hearing things right.

“You heard me. Get out.”

Harry stood, dumbfounded, for a second.

“Now!” his father barked.

Harry jolted inside his own skin and hastily grabbed his duffel from his bed and rushed out of the bedroom. He heard his father’s thunderous footsteps behind him as he hurried to the front door. Harry opened it, hesitating for a moment before turning around.

“Dad-“ he choked, tasting blood and tears in his mouth.

His father gripped the door and slammed it shut right in Harry’s face.

Harry stood on the platform for a moment just gaping at the closed door. He couldn’t quite catch his breath as he tried to collect his thoughts about what just happened. Once he realized the magnitude of the situation he’d gotten himself in, he started to panic. Harry stumbled down the stairs, lucky he didn’t fall on his face between his shakiness and inability to see through his own tears. Once he was on the ground floor, he reached into his pocket, ready to call his mother and make up some elaborate lie. But instead, he saw Louis’ text still shining across the screen, unopened.

“I’m here if you need anything,” it read.

Harry hesitated. He bit his lip anxiously as he wondered whether or not calling Louis was a viable option. On one hand, look what falling for Louis got him into in the first place. It was wrong and dirty and Harry had to remember that. On the other hand, there was nothing that would soothe Harry more than the sound of Louis’ voice right in this very moment.

And because Harry was notorious for making rash, incalculable decisions, he slid open Louis’ contact number and called.

After a few rings, Harry heard rustling on the other end of the line.

“Louis-“ Harry choked out, not realizing until now how hoarse and defeated his voice sounded.

“Harry-“ Louis spoke back, concern evident in his tone. And that’s all it took. Just one name for Harry to fall apart with the sudden, clear comprehension that he was completely gone for this boy. And it was wrong. The cuts and bruises on his face proved that. But Harry recognized that he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help this innate desire for Louis. He craved him, his voice, his touch, his smell. And Harry knew he’d never be good enough for Louis. He’d never deserve Louis’ love. But every fiber in his body lit up at the sound of his voice. One word and he was alive.

“I need you,” Harry admitted, his voice cracking with desperation and fear and anguish. He was broken, probably beyond repair. But if anyone had even a sliver of chance at helping Harry back together, it was Louis.


	8. VIII

Louis spent the vast majority of the next day sulking around his apartment. He felt awful about how things had panned out with Harry. With Sophia and Liam both gone, distracting himself from what had happened with Harry was difficult. He tried playing some video games. Then messed around with some songs he’d been writing. Then he even resorted to cleaning his entire bedroom. By the time he ate his way through an entire sleeve of cookies, he knew nothing was working. Harry kept creeping back into his mind. Well, maybe creeping wasn’t the right word. It was more like barreling, full force, full fledge, right into the forefront of his thoughts. The pained look on his face. The way he rushed out of the bar in such a haste. Then he thought about his dad of course.

Louis figured if he didn’t do something soon, he’d go insane, so he grabbed his set of keys before leaving his apartment. Louis knocked hastily on Niall and Zayn’s door, hoping at least one of the lads would be home. He stood, bouncing on his heels, with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets as he waited patiently. He sighed a breath of relief when he heard shuffling come from inside.

It was Niall that answered, his face lighting up when he realized it was Louis.

“Mate!” he bellowed excitedly.

“Hey Niall,” Louis smiled, “Mind if I come in?”

Niall stood to the side and let Louis scoot past him before closing the door.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Tommo?” Niall asks, returning to the kitchen where he was in the middle of pouring a bowl of cereal.

“In all honesty, Niall it’s been quite a shit day.” Louis meanders over to the couch and sits with his back to the armrest before nervously fiddling with his hands.

Niall chews for a moment before speaking, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Louis shrugs, “Not really. Actually, I came hoping you could help me get my mind off from it.”

“Say no more,” Niall holds up his pointer finger dramatically before scooting off down the hallway and into his bedroom. When he returns after a few moments, he’s holding a couple of controllers and the newest Fifa game. Louis’ face breaks into a huge grin, because of course that’s exactly what he needed, and Niall knew it.

Louis stays at Niall’s until that night, doing nothing but playing Fifa and having a laugh. And while Harry continues to intrude Louis’ thoughts during the day, at least he’s not alone.

Around eight that night, Zayn comes home. He’s got his art bag slung over his shoulder and looks barely even surprised to see Louis taking up half of his couch, eating a bag of crisps.

“How's it goin’ Lou?” he asks over the game.

“Ay, Zayn. I’m alright, and yourself?”

Zayn shrugs, but doesn’t verbally answer. Instead he snags the bag of crisps from Louis and plops on the floor in front of them to watch their match.  
Louis absolutely smokes Niall. “The game was rigged,” he claims, but Louis shakes his head.

“I won fair and square Nialler, and you know it!” Louis laughs back.

After the game.

“You’re sure you don’t want to stay longer?” Niall asks.

Louis nods, “Liam and Sophia will be home soon, I’ll be alright.”

Louis thanks Niall for letting him stay before saying goodbye to the boys.

The minute he walks into his dark, empty apartment, Louis starts thinking of Harry again. He feels quite pathetic if he’s being honest, but he can’t help it. He also thinks about what Sophia told him about not letting Harry push him away and he supposes she was right about that, so he impulsively pulls out his phone and sends Harry a text before he can think twice.

Louis (9:03pm) Hey Haz, I know you wanted me to leave you alone, and I’m trying. Just wanted to make sure things were okay. I’m here if you need anything xx.

He feels pathetic for sending the message. He feels even more pathetic as he watches it go unanswered throughout the night.

Louis barricades himself inside his bedroom for the night. Even though it’s only nine thirty at night, he figures going to bed was better than just thinking about the fact that Harry didn’t want Louis.

Just as Louis goes to shut off his bedside lamp, his phone starts to vibrate. As he leans over, thinking it’s probably Liam or Sophia checking in, he’s surprised to see Harry’s name flashing across the screen.

Louis’ mouth goes dry but he doesn’t let himself hesitate before sliding to answer. It’s Harry who speaks first on the other end of the line.

“Louis-“ and Louis can immediately tell that something is wrong just by his tone of voice. It’s cracked and weak.

“Harry-“ he says back, the curiosity vibrant in his words.

There’s a brief pause where Louis swears he can hear Harry sniffle on the other end of the line. It makes his chest ache as he wonders what’s got him so distraught.

“I need you,” he whispers. It’s so faint, Louis thinks he could have imagined the words. But they’re real. He knows they’re real.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Louis pries.

“Please Louis-“ he can hear Harry growing more and more frantic in his speech. “Can you come get me please?”

“Of course. Where are you, Harry?”

He hears Harry let out a choked sob, “My dads.”

Louis’ stomach drops at the words, because he can already imagine what happened.

“I’m on my way.”

Louis hangs up the phone in a haste as he flings out of bed. He throws on the first sweatshirt he can find before grabbing his keys and rushing out of the apartment, not bothering to turn off any of the lights.

He drives dangerously fast down the road to Harry’s house, the only thing on his mind is getting him safe in the car. The roads are wet from that evening’s shower, his tires splash through puddles scattered on the roads. Louis doesn’t realize how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel until his fingers start to grow numb. He loosens his grip and watches the whiteness slowly fade.

It seems like an agonizingly slow ride to Harry’s dad’s house. When he finally sees the white mailbox come into view, he let’s out a breath of relief, and pulls into the driveway. He pulls his phone out, ready to call Harry and let him know he’s arrived, but before he can even unlock the screen, he sees a figure stand up from the staircase. Louis squints through the wet windshield, but immediately knows it’s Harry. Louis hurries to unbuckle himself and flings open his car door, before rushing towards the boy.

“Are you alright?” he asks, even he can hear the panic in his voice.

Harry doesn’t speak, and as Louis gets closer to him, he can see it’s because he’s crying. Even in the dark, Louis sees his face scrunched up. Harry’s the one that rushes towards Louis. He let’s out a bolstering sob right before colliding with him. Louis’ surprised that Harry’s initiated contact, but he doesn’t question it. Instead Louis stands there, wrapping his arms securely around Harry, and let’s him cry into his shoulder.

“It’s alright,” Louis murmurs soothingly, as he runs his hands along Harry’s back. “Shh, I’m here.”

He’s not sure how long they stand like that, Harry’s curls brushing the side of his face, his body wracked with earth shattering sobs. But Louis refuses to break away first. When Harry’s ready, he finally pulls back. He rubs his nose on the oversized jumper he’s wearing and hiccups lightly.

“Let’s get you in the car, yeah?”

Harry nods. Louis carefully takes the duffel from off the ground and leads Harry to the car. He helps him in before rushing over the the driver’s side. Only when he opens the door, causing the inside light to turn on, does he see the bruises.

He gasps unintentionally, just so taken aback by the dark purple markings around Harry’s throat and the blood on his nose. In that moment he wants nothing more than to shut off his car, rush inside, and tear Harry’s father apart, limb from limb. He wants to scream and yell and hurt him for hurting Harry.

But then Harry puts his head down, as if he’s ashamed of Louis paying attention to his face. And all anger that Louis felt melts away in an instant.

“It’s alright,” Louis says again. He’s about to stretch out his hand, place it on Harry’s knee or something for comfort, but he refrains. Harry reached out to him. He trusted Louis in his time of need, and Louis wasn’t about to cross any boundaries again and ruin that.

Instead he buckles up and starts the car, backing away from the building.

Neither one says a word the entire way to the flat. Louis keeps looking over to make sure Harry’s not crying again. Not like he knew what to do if he was.

When they pull into the parking lot of the flat, Louis shuts off the car before telling Harry, “I’ll grab your bag.”

Harry nods. He takes longer getting out of the car anyway. Louis rushes over to his side once he’s got Harry’s duffel and watches his painful expression as he closes the door. Louis wonders what other bruises he has that he can’t see under his jumper. It makes his stomach squirm.

“Is Liam or Sophia home?” he asks quietly.

“No,” Louis shakes his head. “Is that okay?” He wondered if Harry felt uncomfortable being alone with just him.

Harry nods, “I didn’t want them seeing me like this,” he admits.

He assures him, “It’s just us, Haz.”

Louis almost has to help Harry up the flight of stairs to the flat. It pains Louis to see his agonizing limp, but he grips the railing and manages to reach the top by himself. Louis unlocks the door, letting Harry step inside first, before following behind.

He takes another good look at him once they’re inside. He tries not to be obvious about things, but he definitely notices how deep the bruises around his neck are. He assumes his father choked him. Louis can feel his anger rising. His nose looks bad as well. It’s not deformed or anything, which was a good sign, but the cut on the bridge looked rather deep.

“What can I get you?” Louis asks desperately. He’s really unsure of how to handle this entire situation. His first thought was to call Sophia or Liam, but Harry admitting he didn’t want them to see him so beaten up seemed like a betrayal of trust, so he decided to just keep things to himself.

“Can I just have a shower?” Harry asks quietly as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt.

“Of course, yeah. I’ll grab you a clean towel.”

Harry thanks Louis a few more times before retreating into the bathroom. Louis lingers near the door for a moment. He wonders if Harry was retreating to the bathroom to cry in private. He waits until he hears the water turn on before heading up to his bedroom, assuming Harry will meet him there when he’s done.

Harry’s only in the shower for fifteen minutes or so, but it’s agonizing for Louis to just sit and wait. He fiddles anxiously with the strings on his jumper. He knots them together, takes them apart, folds them up. Anything to keep his hands busy.

He almost jumps when he hears the door to the bathroom open. Harry’s footsteps inch up the stairs and in a few strides, he’s lingering at Louis’ door. His wet hair hangs in his face, but he’s bundled back up in the giant sweatshirt and sweats that he came in. Louis pulls his knees to his chest, still unsure what to say or how to act.

“I’m so sorry about all of this Lou,” Harry says after a few moments of silence. His gaze remains on the floor and he picks at his fingernails.

“No Harry- Don’t apologize, please. None of this is your fault,” Louis assures him. He’s positive Harry doesn’t believe him though. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Harry takes a choppy breath. “I don’t really know how,” he says honestly.

Louis nods, “That’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it.” If Louis has learned one thing about his relationship with Harry, it’s not to push anything. He would hate to scare him off now because he pushed him too hard.

Harry makes his way over to Louis’ bed. He sits right below where Louis’ feet are tucked into himself and continues to stare at the ground.

“My dad did it. Did this.” He points to his face. “And other things,” he whispered.

Louis’ throat hitches.

“But I suppose you already knew he hit me.”

Louis nods. He wanted to be completely honest with Harry. “Sophia told me about the night at the restaurant.”

Harry nods. “I figured she would,” he pauses before continuing, “He just gets mad sometimes.”

Louis grips the sheets beneath him. Has to physically bite his tongue to prevent himself from speaking up. Instead he just listens, let’s Harry speak. He has a feeling Harry hasn’t spoken to many people about this part of his life.

“He gets mad and I’m the one he’s always taken it out on. Ever since my mom left.”

“Did he used to hit your mom, too?”

Harry nods. “I only saw it once. He slapped her. Right in front of me.”

Louis watches Harry sadly, wonders if he’s ever told anyone this.

“My mom doesn’t know.”

“Doesn’t know what?”

“That he hits me.”

Louis bites his lip. “Why haven’t you told her, Haz? She could help you.”

Harry shakes his head, and Louis notices that he’s starting to cry. “I don’t want her to know-“ his voice breaks and he can’t finish his sentence.

“Know what?”

“How awful I am,” he sobs. “I don’t want her to know about all the things I do that make him so mad. I don’t want her to know that this has all been my fault.”

Louis’ insides twist with anguish as he hears Harry blaming himself for his father’s violence. It physically aches him to know Harry’s got so much emotional weight to carry around.

He takes a steadying breath, knowing that what he says now matters, and speaks slowly. “Harry- Harry-“ He’s shaking his head and refusing to look at Louis. “Harry, look at me,” he commands gently. Harry finally raises his head and turns to face Louis. His glossy eyes shimmer under the light. When he blinks, a few tears fall steadily down his cheek. Louis sighs, “Harry, this isn’t your fault.”

Harry shakes his head.

“This isn’t your fault,” he repeats. “Any of it.”

“It is,” Harry croaks, nodding insistently.

“This isn’t your fault.”

Louis keeps repeating the words with hopes that they’ll sink in. But Harry’s shaking his head more.

“It is Louis. It is my fault. It’s all my fault. It’s my fault because I’m gay. I’m gay and my father hates me for it. I’m gay and I’m annoying, and I’m ugly and fat and unlovable. It’s my fault.”

Harry’s shoulders are shaking violently as he heaves. Louis can’t stand it anymore as he scoots across the distance between them and wraps his arms around Harry for the second time that evening. He pulls Harry into his chest and holds him as he sobs. Louis runs his hands up and down the arm of his sweater, trying to soothe the boy, trying to take away the pain he was feeling.

“It’s not your fault,” he kept whispering, although he’s unsure if Harry can even hear him over his cries. Louis says it anyway.

“He saw me at the bar with you the other night,” Harry chokes out. “He saw me holding your hand. That’s why I freaked out, Lou. I’m so sorry-“ Harry’s apology was pushed out of him, as his body was taken over by another sob. Louis held him tighter.

And suddenly it all made sense. The sudden meltdown at the bar the night before. Harry saw his dad there. And he panicked. And judging from the state of things, Harry had every right to panic.

“Shh, Harry, it’s okay.”

“That’s why he did this. Cause I’m gay. He kicked me out of the house, Louis.”

Harry was becoming unhinged and Louis didn’t know what else he could do to make him relax. He gently pulled Harry’s head down to his own chest and stroked his curls, hoping just holding him would be enough to calm him down.

Eventually, Harry cried himself out. His horrendous sobs subsided into soft hiccups, and before Louis knew it, Harry’s breath was evening out.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Harry says, his nose stuffy and clogged.

Louis pulls him away so that they’re looking eye-to-eye again.

“Harry, listen to me,” he says gently, “You have nothing to apologize for. I understand why you ran. I would’ve too if I were you. So don’t feel guilty for that.”

Harry nods slowly and Louis thinks he might actually have finally convinced Harry that something wasn’t his fault for once. He sighs.

“Harry, I can’t imagine what you’re going through because no one in my family reacted the way your dad has, but being gay isn’t a bad thing.”

Harry starts shaking his head again, like he always does when Louis says something he doesn’t believe.

“Do you think I’m bad?” he asks, already knowing Harry’s answer.

“Of course not, Lou!” Harry says, offended that Louis would even ask.

“I’m gay, Harry. I’m gay and I’m not bad. Which means you can be gay and not be bad, too.” Louis reaches out and gently takes hold of Harry’s hand. He half expects him to jerk it away, but he lets it rest in Louis’ instead. “You can’t control what your dad thinks or how he reacts, but that- that’s his problem. It’s not your fault that he hits you.”

Harry stops for a moment and let’s the impact of Louis’ words sink in.

And Louis knows that Harry doesn’t entirely believe what he’s saying, he knows he still thinks he’s at fault for what’s happened, but he hopes that it’s a start.

______________

After Harry has an absolute breakdown in front of Louis, he’s finally able to calm down enough to lay down.

He’s internalized a lot of what Louis told him that evening and he pondered with the idea of things not entirely being his fault. But he knew that couldn’t be true. If it was his dad’s problem, he’d hit everyone he came in contact with. But it was just Harry. Which further proved his point that he was the issue in the whole situation. He didn’t argue with Louis anymore though. Partly because he was so tired. But also because Louis was trying so hard to make him feel better, which he appreciated.

Louis leaves the bedside lamp on, per Harry’s request, and lays facing him in bed. Harry flinches slightly as Louis brings his hand up to his face, gently grazing the cuts and bruises on his skin. Harry watches as Louis’ face looks almost pained as he inspects every inch of Harry’s neck and face.

There’s a small part of Harry that wants to come clean and tell Louis everything. Just admitting to him about the physical violence his father demonstrates made him feel a lot lighter. But Harry stops himself. He didn’t want Louis knowing just how fucked he was quite yet. He’d save the other horror stories for another time. Or maybe never.

Harry was still a little panicky as he laid in bed. His breathing just wouldn’t slow down enough for him to fully relax. Louis noticed of course. Louis noticed everything.

He stretched his arms out and tugged, motioning for Harry to cuddle in closer.

“C’mere.” He said.

Harry obliged and slid into Louis’ embrace. He let his head rest on him, trying to soothe himself with the steady rise and fall of Louis’ chest.

“I was stumbling, looking in the dark, with an empty heart,” Louis started to sing out loud. “But you say you feel the same. Could we ever be enough? Baby we could be enough. And it's alright calling out for somebody to hold tonight. When you're lost, I'll find the way. I’ll be your light. You'll never feel like you're alone, I’ll make this feel like home.”

Harry had never heard Louis’ singing voice before, but it was more beautiful than he ever could have imagined. He could physically feel himself relax in Louis’ embrace, as his smooth methodical words calmed his entire self down.

Louis continued to sing, clearly noticing what an effect it had on Harry. He sang until Harry’s body went limp beneath him, his breathing finally steadying with his limbs all tangled up in Louis.

______________

Harry stays seated in the passenger’s side of Louis’ car, which was parked outside of Louis’ childhood home, feeling like he might be either on the verge of passing out or vomiting.

“What’ll we tell them about my face?” he asks nervously. He’s hyper aware of the bruise on his jaw, the crescent cut above his nose. It’s hideous.

The plans had been rather sporadic. Louis had suggested to Harry that morning that he start his winter break early, skip school Thursday and Friday, so that the two of them could drive to Doncaster and stay with Louis’ family for a few days.

When Harry asked his mom, she had agreed immediately, thinking it was a wonderful idea that he get away for a bit.

“Just remember Gemma’s coming home Monday,” she reminds him over the phone.

So now here he is, slouched over in his seat, staring at the double wide house with bile creeping up the back of his throat.

“We’ll tell ‘em you got in a fight. Defending my honor, or something,” he chuckles. When Harry doesn’t laugh, he sighs deeply. “They’re gonna love you, Haz,” Louis mumbles quietly. He could sense Harry’s uneasiness about the whole ordeal since they left Manchester. He reaches across the center console and gives Harry’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I promise you they will.”

Harry takes a deep breath and nods at Louis, his touch was all the reaffirmation that he needed.

“Let’s go then,” he says.

Louis and Harry each grab their own bags before heading up to the house. Harry lingers nervously on the final step, but follows Louis once he pushes his way through the door.

“I’m home!” Louis calls.

Harry takes a quick look around the entrance. The first thing he notices are pictures hanging up all over the walls. Many including Louis’ and four little girls he recognizes from all the pictures Louis’ showed him.

“Lou!” Someone’s shouting. Harry looks up in time to see a head of brown hair crash into Louis, hugging him tightly. She’s followed by a younger set of girls, the twins. Harry bites his lip, trying to put faces to the names that Louis has told him all about.

The twins peer up at Harry with curious, identical eyes.

“You’re Harry?” the one on the left asks. Phoebe, he’s guessing by the bow in her hair. He remembers Louis telling him Phoebe always liked to wear pretty things in her hair.

“Girls,” Louis says. “This is Harry. Harry this is -”

“Phoebe and Daisy,” Harry finishes for him, looking at the twins. “And Fizzy. Louis’s told me about all of you.”

This seems to please them. They all smile brightly up at him. “Did he tell you we’re eight years old now?” Phoebe holds up seven fingers, and Harry chuckles.

Louis reaches over and tugs on her ring finger, getting her to put up the eighth number. “There you go, love.”

“Louis?” comes another voice. “Louis is that you?”

And then a woman who can only be Louis’ mother appears, smiling widely, white flour on her pants. Her hair's the same shade as the Fizzy’s and she has bright, happy eyes.

“I thought I heard you!” She mum exclaims, rushing forward to greet them.

“Mum, this is Harry,” Louis says, once she’s pulled back from hugging him.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Tomlinson. Thank you for having me.”

She laughs. “You can call me Jay.” She pulls Harry in for a hug then.

“Where’s Lottie?” Louis asks, looking quickly around the house.

“In her room, I believe-“ Jay says. “Girls, would you go clean up your toys before dinner please? Fizzy, love, would you set the table for me?”

Louis had already turned the corner up the stairs, and was yelling “Lottie!”

Harry opts to follow Jay and Fizzy instead.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks, looking around the room, feeling just a little out of place.

“Of course not, love, you’re our guest.”

Jay scoots out of the room for a moment, leaving Harry and Fizzy alone together.

“Silverware?” he asks her, looking at the abundance of drawers around the room.

“By the fridge-“ she points to the longest drawer in the kitchen. “Better not let mum catch you. You’re a guest, remember?” she snickers as she sets the table with seven plates, one still lingering in her hand.

She counts for a moment before hollering, “Mom!”

“What love?” Jay pokes her head in.

“Is dad gonna be home for dinner?”

“No love, he’s working tonight.” Fizzy nods before putting the plate back in the cupboard.

Louis eventually comes fumbling down the stairs with Lottie by his side, arm thrown over her shoulder. From what Louis told him, she’s the oldest of the girls. She’s beautiful, her platinum blonde hair flowing nearly to her waist. Her and Louis are snickering about something before she looks up.

“Hi Harry,” she says, giving him a wave.

“Nice to meet you Lottie,” Harry smiles.

“I would say the same, but it feels like I already know you. Louis here never shuts up about you.”

Louis chokes out a half-grunt, half-cough, while simultaneously glaring down at his sister, shoving her away slightly. Harry smiles.

Dinner is lovely. Never, in Harry’s entire life, has he experienced such chaos at the table. It’s fun, though. There’s always someone telling stories or laughing or bickering.

“So Harry, what’s your family like?” Jay asks once the chit-chat dies down briefly.

“Um,” Harry wipes his mouth, trying to stall, “Well my parents are divorced. Both live in Cheshire, though.”

“Do you have any sisters?” Daisy asks.

He smiles and nods. “I have an older sister, her name’s Gemma.”

“You never told me that,” Louis interrupts, frowning like this actually really upsets him.

“Just never came up, I guess.”

Louis puts his fork down, but says nothing.

“That’s it?” Daisy asks looking shocked.

He chuckles. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Louis huffs and goes back to his food. Lottie shakes her head. “Aw, Lou… are you upset that your boyfriend kept something from you?”

“Lottie,” Jay says harshly, and the girl stuffs food in her mouth to keep from laughing.

Harry chuckles a little and grins in her direction. He notices Louis’ face get red.

Harry manages to get away with mostly pushing the food around his plate. He cuts the noodles up into a bunch of small pieces and just kind of swirls everything together, not taking more than a few bites.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry, Harry?” Jay had asked once everyone else had taken their plates to the sink.

Harry frowns. “Yeah. It was delicious though, thank you.”

She smiles.

He offers to help with the dishes, but Louis shoos him away.

“Go pick out a movie for us to watch,” he says pointing to the living room.

“Do you want to watch a movie with us?” Daisy asks. She’s laying upside down on the couch and kicking her feet up in the air.

Harry nods. “What’re our choices?”

Phoebe runs to the telly and opens up a cabinet underneath the case.

“Come look,” she says.

“Better pick something good, Harold.” Lottie plops herself down on the arm chair next to the couch and starts scrolling aimlessly through her phone. She’s smirking though.

“What do you like?” Harry asks Phoebe. She’s kneeling down next to him, her hands using the carpet for balance.

She bites her lip, thinking for a moment. “I like the Lion King,” she retorts. “It’s Louis’ favorite too.”

“Lion King it is then,” Harry says smiling.

Louis’ face lights up when he sees what they’re planning on watching. “This is my favorite!” Louis squeals when he enters the room with his mother and Fizzy. “Did they tell you that? Or are we just meant to be?”

Harry beams up at the boy.

Louis scoots down beside Harry, leaving no room between them. They’re touching from shoulder, all the way down to their thighs. Harry can’t help but notice that. About five minutes into the previews, Louis slides his hand across Harry’s lap and intertwines their fingers.

Harry panics for a moment, wondering what Louis was doing. Wondering why he was being so physically affectionate in front of his entire family.

Louis must sense his uneasiness, because he strokes his hand softly with his thumb and whispers, “It’s okay, Haz.”

Harry relaxes a little one he notices that no one is looking at their joined hands. No one gasps or looks appalled. Even when Fizzy turns to say something to her brother, she doesn’t comment, although she must’ve seen.

Harry starts to wonder what it would be like to feel this at ease in his own house. The idea of coming out to his mother has crossed his mind before, but never in a realistic sense. Harry didn’t think he’d ever be brave enough to. But with Louis clenching his hand, seeming unbothered by how clammy it was, Harry thinks that maybe one day he could be. Maybe one day, Harry, Louis, Gemma and his mother could all sit around watching the telly, and Harry wouldn’t be afraid to hold Louis’ hand. Maybe.

 

______________

 

As the evening goes on, the girls all head off to bed.

“I’ll can out the couch for you in a minute, love. Let me just go get some blankets.”

“Mum, don’t worry,” Louis says, “he can sleep upstairs in mine.”

“Is that okay with you?” Jay asks Harry. When he nods in confirmation, she smiles. “Okay. I’m off to bed then dears. “Goodnight boys.”

They continue watching the telly for a bit longer before Louis says, “If you don’t want to share a bed with me, I can pull out the couch for you. It's pretty easy.”

Harry chuckles and leans into his side. “Louis. We share a bed all the time, you knob head.”

Louis looks offended but a small smile crosses his face. “Knob head eh? You know what, comments like that’ll land you right on this old, lumpy futon for the night, Harold.’”

Harry just smirks and pulls Louis up from the couch. “C’mon. Let’s go to bed.”

“Hard to say no to that.”

 

______________

 

“You have the prettiest eyes,” Harry tells Louis once they’re curled up in bed. “Blue like the sea.”

Louis face softens. “You too.” He laughs then. “A green sea.”

Louis reaches across the small gap between them and brushes Harry’s cheek with the pad of his thumb.

Harry bites his lip, and scoots closer.

His touch always feels so gentle.

Gentle is something Harry hadn't felt in so long. His hans are shaking, eyes afraid to move away from Louis, his heart pounding, fingers curling into fists, all in a good way, though.

“Haz?” Louis says quietly.

“Hm?” Harry hums.

“How come you never told me about Gemma?”

Harry breaks their eye contact as he furrows his eyebrows and ponders, “I dunno,” he says honestly.

“I just feel like you know so much about me,” he sighs, “And I didn’t even know you had a sister.”

Harry frowns, thinking that wasn’t entirely true. He knew Harry’s musical interests. He knew his favorite book. He knew exactly how he took his tea. He knew he was gay. He knew that his father hit him. Louis knew more about Harry than perhaps anyone else.

“I guess I’m just not too used to talking about myself,” Harry declares.

“What’s she like?” Louis asks. He scoots up on the pillow, and tucks his elbow into his chest.

Harry’s face immediately breaks out into a grin as he thinks about Gemma. “She’s wonderful,” he states. “She’s so warm and funny. Always sarcastic or cracking a joke. And she’s just there, you know? No matter what. She’s there. She’s one of my favorite people in the whole world.” Harry pauses momentarily and bites his lip, wondering if he should admit the thought that just popped into his head out loud. He decides to go for it, “She reminds me a lot of you, actually.”

Louis beams back at Harry, his cheeks turning a flushed red color for the second time that evening.

“She’s older than you then?”

Harry nods. “She goes to uni in London.”

“How come you haven't told her then?” Louis asks.

“Told her what?”

“You know- that you’re gay.”

Harry sighs heavily and thinks about his response. Of course he knows why. Because he’s afraid. He’s cowardly and ashamed and so afraid.

“I guess I was scared…” he bites his lip. “I was scared she wouldn’t accept me.”

“Do you think that’s even a possibility?” Louis asks.

Harry thinks about it then. He thinks about the possibility of coming clean to Gemma, about telling her he likes boys. A boy. And he realizes that, no. It wasn’t even a possibility.

“I think she’d still love me,” he whispers. “I’ve just-“ Harry hurries to try and find the words, “I’ve never seen a family like yours, Lou. One where someone could just be open and gay and it wasn’t an issue. I didn’t know that existed.”

Louis nodded. “It’s hard, Harry. It’s hard and it’s scary. But I’ve met your mom. She’s so loving and supportive, Harry. You can do it, if you want to. And there’s no rush or pressure, but you can. And your sister sounds the same.”

Harry nods, fighting back the tears in his eyes. “She is.”

“Does your dad hit her too?” Louis’ voice is nothing but a whisper, so faint Harry’s ears have to strain to hear it.

Harry shakes his head.

“Just you then?”

Harry nods. His stomach turning to knots. He’d known this conversation had to be coming, considering the state at which Harry had called Louis in the night before. He tried to open up as best he could, but he was so hysterical and tired that he just couldn’t. He ended up just drifting to sleep in Louis’ embrace instead.

“Talk to me,” Louis whispers. “Don’t hide in your head.”

He supposed he owed Louis an explanation. So Harry squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself not to burst into tears. When he opens them and meets Louis’ blue eyes, he finds the story simply pouring out of him. And once Harry starts talking, he can’t seem to stop.

He tells Louis about the time he spilled his dad’s beer. About the first time he slapped him. It’s painful, letting things out in the open, admitting they’re real. He tells of the time he broke a mug and his father slammed him against the door. And he’s ashamed to admit to Louis all the things he’s done to earn these punishments, but he can’t seem to hold any of it in.

But he has to get it all out or it's going to kill him, like poison.

He takes a deep breath before telling Louis about the first time his dad came into his room and raped him. He's never said the word ‘rape’ out loud before, but it just kinda flowed out of him. Talking about it out loud causes his voice to break, but Louis quickly reaches across the bed and squeezes his hand tighter, anchoring him back to reality. He tells him about how he’d threaten things and tell Harry he “liked it” because he was gay.

During several moments of his story, Harry can feel Louis stiffen in bed beside him, but he stays relatively quiet.

When Harry gets to the part about cutting himself he can’t seem to look at Louis. He’s afraid. Afraid and ashamed and embarrassed. What would Louis’ eyes show? Judgment, anger, disgust? He isn’t sure.

When Harry finally gathers enough courage to look at Louis, he sees that he’d got his free hand covering his eyes and he's shaking his head slowly, almost like he can’t believe what Harry has told him. It’s quiet between them for a moment, neither of them moving or saying much of anything. Harry is so afraid.

“Harry-,” Louis finally says, dropping his hand from his face but still not meeting Harry’s glance. “I… I feel so- so stupid.”

Harry’s pulse quickens. “Why?”

Turning to look at him, Louis lets out a frustrated kind of noise. “Because I knew something was wrong. I mean, I suspected there was something you weren’t telling me. I just figured, eventually you would open up.” He trails a finger up and down Harry’s covered arm, “If I had known . . .” He keeps his eyes locked on his finger, not looking up at Harry. “I should have known.”

A sudden sigh has Harry looking so intently at Louis. “The thought-,” the boy continues, not looking at him. He has his eyes on their hands. “The thought of anyone hurting you. Of anyone hurting you - It makes me want to- to… It’s not-” His head drops down to where their interlaced hands are and Harry’s stomach tightens when he realizes Louis is crying.

He wonders why Louis is crying for him. It was fine, it was okay. He deserved most of it, he wants to tell him, he wasn’t a good kid; he broke things and didn’t always do well enough in school. He wasn’t skinny enough or funny enough.

“Don’t cry, Louis. I’m fine”

Louis shakes his head. “You’re not fine. None of this is fine.” His eyes are puffy, glistening with tears. “You have to tell someone,” he says.

“I told you,” Harry sniffs.

Louis shakes his head, adding “Someone other than me. The police, your mom. . . Your sister. Someone.”

Almost immediately, Harry’s sits up, shaking his head and pulling his hand free from Louis’ grasp. The thought of telling his mum, of dealing with his father and the police has his chest aching. His breath comes out too quickly.

"I can't," Harry gasps. “You don’t understand-“

But then Louis grabs Harry’s jumper, practically pulling him into his lap and starts rubbing soothingly up and down his arms. “Shh,” he coos. “It’s alright.”

It’s sad, really, how quickly he’s able to calm down just from Louis’ touch. Harry leans back into his chest and takes a couple of deep breathes.

“Not yet, okay?” Harry whispers.

Louis immediately understands what he’s referring to. “You have to eventually, Harry.”

Harry nods. “Eventually. Just not yet. Please Lou?”

And of course Louis can’t say no. They stay cuddled up like that for a few minutes. Louis brushes Harry’s hair off his sticky forehead before stating, “You’re burning up, love.”

Harry nods. He was starting to notice how warm he felt.

Louis tugs at the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “You can take it off.”

Harry immediately shakes his head. No way. There was no way he was letting Louis see how flabby and cut up he was.

Louis curls his arms around Harry’s middle then, squeezing him gently. Harry sighs into his touch, leaning further back into Louis. He’s surprised to feel a soft set of lips trailing down his neck, peppering his skin with kisses. Harry has to hold back a moan. “It’s alright, love.” He assures him. “It’s just me, it’s okay.”

Harry takes a choppy breath before nodding slowly. Besides, he’d already told Louis he cut himself. So it’s not something he wasn’t expecting.

It takes about every ounce of energy and courage inside of Harry to get him to strip off his sweatshirt. He slowly slips the material up and over his head, tossing it on the floor, before immediately wrapping his arms around his middle, insecure about how exposed he was.

Louis slides forward on the bed and gently pulls his arms away. “No need to hide,” he whispers.

Harry lets his arms fall to his sides, feeling vulnerable and scared, but excited. Louis looks at him, the fabric of his oversized t-shirt hiding how skinny he really was, and gasps.

“Harry you’re so beautiful,” he says.

Now it’s Harry’s turn to blush. He tucks a loose curl behind his ear and stares down at the comforter, too afraid to meet Louis’ eyes. He hesitates when Louis slowly reaches for his hand, but he obliges, letting the older boy rotate his arm so he’s palm up, the marks and cuts on his arm fully exposed.

Harry waits for him to make a comment about how ugly it is, but it never comes. Instead Louis looks sadly down at the cuts before bending over and pressing his lips softly to the skin. Harry gasps, watching as Louis kisses every inch of his injured arm, like he’s healing them. When he’s done, he scoots closer to Harry, his hand traveling up Harry’s bicep. When Harry looks up, Louis is only inches away, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

He leans forward then and presses a soft, gently kiss to Harry’s lips. If you could even call it that. It’s like a ghost. There for a moment, and then suddenly gone. Louis pulls back and presses their foreheads together for a minute before he opens his eyes. Their eyes meet and that’s when Harry simply can’t help himself. Because he’s here. He’s here and he’s let Louis see parts of him that he’s never shown anyone. He’s told him things that he’s never told anyone. And Louis was still here. He was still here, and he was calling Harry beautiful and kissing his skin and finally, Harry thinks, he might be enough for someone. He surges forward and they’re kissing again, really kissing. Louis’ hands finding Harry’s hair and Harry’s hands dropping down to the other boy’s waist, pulling their bodies flush together. Louis licks along his lower lip and automatically Harry’s mouth parts, granting him access and entrance. He licks his way into Harry’s mouth, still running his fingers through his hair.

He doesn’t want it to stop. He’s pretty sure he could do this forever, just sit here kissing Louis.

Louis drops his hands from Harry’s hair and slips them under his shirt instead, pressing his warm fingertips into the boy’s cool skin. Louis pulls back from the kiss just then, a wild look in his eye. Harry whines, scooting forward, trying to reconnect their lips.

Instead, Louis lets his lips travel to Harry’s neck, earning a moan from the younger boy.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers again, “so, so beautiful.”

Harry sighed and fluttered his eyes shut. He could feel himself getting turned on, the dull heat in his stomach twisting. He rolled his shoulders into Louis and cradled his head in his neck.

Louis’ lips left wet patches up to his earlobe, a hand traveling over his stomach, making it flutter under the warm hand. "This ok?" he whispered, slipping his fingers over Harry's growing erection. “Wanna make you feel good-“

Harry shuddered, hesitating. He wanted it, wanted Louis. But what if it hurts? The only experience Harry had with men was with his father, and that always hurt. Hurt and shame and disgust. He began to panic.

Truthfully, Harry isn't scared. He's petrified. His virginity wasn't given away, it was stolen, right out from under him and it hurt. The first to the last time he did this it was horrific, scarring, physically and mentally, and Harry can feel himself shaking.

Louis sensed it, pulling his hand off and laying a kiss on his cheek. "It's okay, Haz. We don't have to," he murmured, nuzzling into his soft skin.

But no, no, no. That's not what Harry wanted. “Gentle?” he murmurs softly.

The way he said it, so soft, so sweet, needing to feel loved, needing Louis to love him, makes Louis’ chest ache.

Louis pulled back and cupped Harry’s cheek, needing him to understand, ”I’ll always be gentle with you,” he cooed. Harry sighed softly. And Louis dipped back into Harry's neck.

Harry whined, hands traveling to Louis’ back. “Louis-"

"Shhh," Louis cooed, letting his hand move back to Harry's crotch to rub gently over the sensitive head under his pants. "Relax, love."

Harry had melted into Louis’ bed, letting him work him over, moaning softly and curling his fingers into Louis’ back. It felt good. No pain, no fear, just good. He closed his eyes and arched his back, bucking his hips into Louis’ hand and moaning his name as he came.

Louis groaned himself as Harry finished in his own trousers. He let his hand trail slowly up his stomach and torso before cupping his cheek.

“Louis,” Harry breathed, his hair poking in all directions from Harry tugging at it, “I think I might need to borrow some trousers.”

Harry’s breath hitches in his throat. He’s still panting and out of breath as he came down from his orgasm. He feels overwhelmed, physically, mentally, and emotionally. But the second his eyes meet cerulean blue, he’s able to take a deep breath. And suddenly he’s not afraid.

Louis smirks, leaning over to press a kiss to Harry's chapped lips. He scoots out of bed, adjusting himself in his pants, considering how hard he was from watching Harry get off, and scoots over to his dresser. He pulls out a pair of sweats and throws them to Harry. "Might be a bit short-" he warns. Harry pauses, and for a moment Louis thinks he'll ask him to leave. But instead Harry lifts his bum off the bed, using his elbows for support and shimmies his way out of his jeans. Louis tries not to stare. He tries to ignore the twitch in his dick when Harry's pale thighs become visible, the stain on his boxers clear as day. But he just can't help himself. 

Louis bites his lip, crawling in bed beside Harry and cuddling into his side, cheeks flushed, heart fluttering. 

"Harry?" he whispers, tracing a pattern lightly over his white tshirt. 

"Hm?" Harry answers, his voice groggy and sounding like he was half asleep already. 

"No more secrets, right?"

Harry blinks his eyes open, met by the dark room surrounding him. He takes a gulp, hoping Louis doesn't notice that it takes him a second longer to answer than it should have, "No more secrets," he lies.


	9. IX

The following evening, Harry and Louis are in bed much earlier. After a full day spent at the park with Louis’ sisters, flying kites, exploring trails through the woods, and playing tag, everyone was well exhausted after dinner. 

“Think we’ll just head to bed,” Louis announces as he scrapes the spaghetti off from Harry’s plate and into the trash. Harry’s glad he doesn’t notice that Harry only took two bites. Louis leans over and presses a kiss to Jay’s cheek. “Night you lot,” he announces before trudging up the stairs, Harry following. 

They lay in bed, both propped up on opposite elbows, staring at each other in the darkness. 

Harry can make out a few of Louis’ faint features, illuminated by the moonlight poking through the gap between the curtains. He’s bundled back up in his sweatshirt. Thoughts of taking it off briefly crossed his mind. Harry felt more comfortable around Louis than he had ever felt around anyone else. Harry was still in shock that even after finding out about his cuts and the things his father had done to him, Louis wanted to be around him. It was a tough transition, going from having no one understand or know him to having the perfect person doing exactly that. And while Harry trusted Louis more and more with each breath he took, he was still hesitant to be completely vulnerable in his company. His stomach bulged out from his jeans, as the pasta from dinner settled heavily inside of him. Harry tried to suck in the fat, but figured he’d keep the sweatshirt on tonight. 

Louis knew virtually everything there was to know about Harry, aside from the fact that he didn’t like to eat. There’d been numerous times when Harry wanted to come clean, to be completely honest in every way with Louis. But there was a part of Harry that needed to keep it a secret. 

Harry had a feeling that Louis would be keeping a closer eye on him now that he knew of his self-harm habit. Harry was prepared to slice a little more discreetly. Possibly in spots Louis wouldn’t notice. But he needed to keep control over his eating, if nothing else. 

As if he read his mind, Louis reaches his hand across the small space between them and gently runs his fingers over Harry’s forearm, where he knows the cuts are. 

“Will you stop?” he asks quietly. 

Harry understands the question perfectly, even without any context. He gulps. 

“Sure, Lou,” he says nonchalantly. 

Even in the darkness, Harry can see Louis’ frown appear on his face as he shakes his head. “No more lies, remember? I’m serious.”

Harry wants to promise to Louis that he’ll stop. He wants to assure him that with Louis by his side, Harry can do anything. That he’ll be strong enough to fight off the urges when they come. Or that they’ll just stop all together. But he can’t. Harry knows he can’t. 

Instead he sighs. He hated lying to Louis. It ate away at him. So rather than promising to stop, he takes a deep breath and tries a different approach, “I have to do it. You don’t understand.”

Louis’ eyes widen and go from staring at Harry’s arm to his face. He frowns. “No you don’t.”

Harry shakes his head. “I do. It’s what I deserve. I can’t help it.”

“No you don’t,” Louis argues. He sits up in bed, dropping Harry’s arm from his embrace. “You don’t deserve that or anything your dad’s done to you.” Harry can hear the sternness evident in his voice. He’s ready to argue back, but Louis shakes his head and continues instead, “What he did to you… does to you- is horrible. It’s not okay, do you understand me? You don’t deserve any of it. You are the best person I’ve ever known." 

As Harry sits and tries so desperately to absorb Louis’ words, and his panic attack comes on so suddenly. One moment, Harry can breathe. The next, he can’t. He’s thinking about his situation, how he wants to get better, be better for Louis. But he knows he can’t. Harry starts to feel his lunges shrivel up. At first, he just sits in silence and focuses on how his entire chest is caving in on him, but after a few moments, it becomes evident that he hasn’t inhaled any oxygen and he let’s out a gaping gasp, accompanied by the clutching of his chest and the shaking of his entire body. 

Louis’ face immediately distorts into obvious concern. 

Normally, now would be the time that Harry would rush to his own bathroom at home and open up the small box in the cabinet containing his razor. He would press the metal into his delicate skin and slice, the rush of euphoria seeping into his bloodstream, the air filling his lungs. But Harry didn’t have that option, which only caused more panic. 

“I-I- I don’t-“ he tries to tell Louis that he can’t do it. That he’s not strong enough for any of this, but he can’t. 

Louis slides so his back’s pressed against the wall before reaching out and grabbing Harry by the jumper, pulling him across the sheets and into the nook between his legs. In one swift motion, Louis tucks one hand under Harry’s leg, the other to support his back, and lifts him into his lap, cradling him like a small child. Harry immediately burrows his face in the crook of Louis’ neck, still gasping and unable to breathe properly. 

Louis’ is running his hand up and down Harry’s arm, whilst simultaneously rocking back and forth soothingly. 

“Shh,” he coos, “It’s alright, love. Breathe for me.”

Harry tries. He really does. He goes to inhale. But as his mouth opens, he can’t do it. He chokes on his own breath instead. 

That’s when Louis physically pulls Harry’s head out of it’s hiding spot, and cradles it between his hands, forcing Harry (who was on the verge of passing out) to look him in the eye. 

“Breathe,” he instructs. “Through your nose, just breathe. Focus on me, look at me.”

And Harry does. He focuses on the way Louis’ eyes still look blue, even in the dark. And he focuses on the way his calloused hands press so firmly into his cheeks. He focuses on the cluster of small freckles on his left cheek and the facial hair he’d been growing the past week. To Harry’s surprise, he inhales sharply through his nose suddenly, air burning his nostrils and flooding down into his lunges. He feels them inflate, forcing his chest back to it’s normal form, lifting the pressure, clearing his brain. 

“Keep going,” Louis instructs, and Harry focuses on the way his lips move with each word. He takes another shaky breath, and another, and another, until his head is no longer spinning. 

Louis continued murmuring soothing things into his ear, rubbing in between his shoulders and kissing the back of his neck every so often. Harry regained his breath, finally feeling like his heart wasn’t about to explode from his chest. His breaths, although stuttered, evened out to quiet whimpers.

Once Louis is sure Harry’s not going to pass out, he sighs and closes his eyes in relief, letting his hands drop from Harry’s face. 

“I don’t think I can stop,” Harry whispers. 

Louis looks up again, a frown on his face. He pulls Harry into his chest and plants a kiss to the top of his head. “You can do it. I’ll help you” Louis coos. “Will you stop? For me?”

Harry closes his eyes and lets his head rest against Louis’ shoulder, his breathing finally returned to normal. He takes a fistful of Louis’ shirt, and clings on to him before nodding. 

How could he possibly say no to that?

 

________________

 

Harry has a hard time keeping his promise. 

Especially after leaving the seclusion and comfort he’d found at the Tomlinson house. His stomach dropped as everyone gathered around the small entry way, hugging Louis and Harry goodbye. 

“Come back anytime,” Jay had whispered after kissing his temple and giving him a tight squeeze. The truth was he didn’t want to leave at all. Doncaster was the first place he had ever felt even remotely accepted as his true self. 

Harry stared idly out the window watching the scenery pass by. He was too encompassed by his own intrusive thoughts to notice Louis looking over at him every few moments. His thoughts wandered to that evening and how his mother would be working her last night shift and how he’d be all alone for the first time in a while. 

Harry looks at his reflection in the passenger’s side mirror and takes in his bruised face. His fingers trail up to the dark purple marks around his neck, where he traces the elongated marks lightly. It had faded substantially since Thursday night. But Harry still had a prominent cut above his nose he’d have to explain to his mother and Gemma the next day. He fights back the urge to scratch and claw at the skin on his wrists right then and there. 

Harry wasn’t looking forward to being alone that evening. He was scared of having to finally face his thoughts head-on, with no offered distractions to keep him safe. He hadn’t been alone since Thursday, since his father had kicked him out. Which meant Harry hadn’t overanalyzed and processed every inch of dialogue, every shift in tone, every glance that his father had given him. He hadn’t punished himself. And the truth was, Harry was terrified of breaking the promise he made to Louis. 

“Why don’t you plug your phone in?” Louis suggests, his voice breaking through the thick silence. Harry notes that they’re about an hour outside of Manchester. 

Harry snaps out of his daydream and looks over. 

“Huh?”

“Why don’t you plug your phone in? Play me some music?”

Louis frowned when Harry turned his way, and even in the dim light filtering in from the window, he could tell that Harry was sad. Dark circles ran under his eyes, his usual crinkled dimples turned downwards as he nodded and started scrolling through his phone to find a song. 

A soft melody started playing through the car, piano riffs mixed with an acoustic set. It was soothing, but offered a touch of melancholia. Louis sighed and reached across the center console, grabbing hold of Harry’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze as the younger boy stared directly back out the window. Louis couldn’t stop him from getting lost in his own mind, but he wouldn’t let him think he’s alone in there. 

Harry doesn’t have the energy to speak much, but he feels better with Louis’ fingers tangled with his. He feels stronger somehow. 

The rest of the drive is spent with nothing but Harry’s playlist echoing through the speakers until Louis reaches the exit on the highway he’d normally take to bring Harry home. 

“Lou?” Harry mutters, slightly embarrassed by what he’s about to ask. 

“Yeah Haz?” Louis asks, squeezing his hand a second time. 

“Would you mind bringing me home tomorrow instead? I know it’s out of the way- I just-“ he sighs, “I don’t want to be away from you tonight.” He feels pathetic admitting his fear out loud. 

But Louis is nodding immediately. There’s no hesitation in his answer, “Yeah of course.” He snaps off his blinker and continues down the highway towards Manchester. 

Harry’s able to relax a bit more after that. 

 

________________

 

That evening, Harry and Louis have the entire place to themselves. Liam and Sophia were also away for the weekend, visiting Liam’s family in Wolverhampton and wouldn’t be home until the next morning. 

Still, they opt to watch a movie in Louis’ room, rather than the living room before bed. Harry had made it through about half of Grease before his eyelids felt too heavy to fight off. Louis was behind him, the big spoon, his arm cradled around Harry’s middle. Harry decided to give in and close his eyes slowly, figuring he’d just rest them for a moment. 

Harry stirs when he feels lips being pressed to his temple. “You awake, sleepy?”

“No,” Harry grumbled, barely aware of the fact that he fell asleep in the first place. He looked away when Louis smirked so Louis wouldn’t see the smile spreading across his face, but Louis noticed everything.

“What’s that? Are those...dimples?” Louis exclaimed, keeping his voice quiet and wrapping his entire self around Harry who was trying to burrow under the blanket.

“Stop!” Harry laughed when Louis’ hands started tickling the soft skin of his hips under his t-shirt. “Louis, s-stop,” he giggled, desperately wriggling under Louis’ sudden weight on top of him.

Louis peppered kisses all over Harry’s face, pinning his wrists down as gently as he could so Harry couldn’t squirm away. “Stop what? Stop what?”

“I h-hate being tickled,” Harry said as he tried to breathe, but his wild laugh betrayed him. Louis sat back on his heels, waiting until Harry’s breath recovered. Harry’s stomach moved up and down as a few stray giggles left his lips. Harry laid down on the bed, looking up at Louis and holding one of his hands. Louis brushed Harry’s curls off of his forehead and pressed his lips to his soft skin.

Harry pulled Louis’ face close to his, his breath hitching a little as Louis’ hands found his hips again. The atmosphere in the room was suddenly serious, but not uncomfortable. Harry could hear every breath Louis took, could see the way his eyelashes moved every time he blinked. Louis gently pressed his fingers into the skin. “This okay?” Louis murmured.

Harry nodded, watching as Louis moved in between his legs. Louis never lost eye contact with Harry as he ever so gently brushed his lips against Harry’s defined hipbones. “How about this?” Louis asked, pressing a wet kiss to the skin.

Harry’s breaths grew choppy as he nodded again, quicker and with more confidence this time. “Please touch me,” he breathed. He immediately felt embarrassed by his request. But when Louis looked up with a faint pull at the corner of his lips, Harry sighed back against the pillow. It was Louis. Louis would never hurt him. Louis would never lay an unloving hand on him. Harry wondered if Louis could hear how fast his heart was beating. He felt it thudding against his hollowed-out chest, echoing against his ribcage.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Louis said softly. His hands moved slowly to the hem of Harry’s joggers. “Want to make you feel good.”

“Okay-.” Harry said. He cleared his throat, whimpering when Louis’ lips found the soft hair of his navel.

“Shh, shh,” Louis slid Harry’s joggers down slowly, exposing his legs to the warm air of the room. “Let me take care of you. Lie back for me.”

“Yes,” Harry replied stupidly. He felt drunk, drunk off of Louis’ grumbly voice and drunk of of the way his smooth lips felt on his own skin, drunk off of how gentle Louis was being. Harry felt insecure about his body, now especially that Louis was seeing his bare legs for the first time. He hesitated when Louis tugged on the hem of his sweatshirt, indicating for him to take it off. Normally, Harry would have shaken his head no. But Louis felt different. Louis was different. 

Things felt okay. The cool air felt sharp against his bare skin, as Harry lay back on the sheets with nothing but his boxers still on his body. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to assure himself that Louis wouldn’t laugh. 

“So beautiful,” he hummed, running his hands up and down Harry’s torso, sending shivers up his spine. “Is this okay?” Louis sucked a kiss to Harry’s belly button whilst simultaneously slipping his thumbs underneath the fabric of Harry’s boxers. Harry’s cock was a hard line against his thigh. Louis let his lips brush open-mouthed kisses against the tightening fabric, and Harry moaned before nodding. It went straight to Louis’ cock; as he started palming himself through his own boxers, which only made Harry groan louder at the sight of Louis touching himself.

“Yeah, it’s okay. Take them off,” Harry struggled to pull his pants off. Louis helped him, leaning to press a kiss to Harry’s cheek, comforting him as he easily slid off Harry’s trousers.

“I’ve got you baby, just relax.” Louis said. And without warning, his lips were around Harry. Harry gasped, opening his thighs wider and letting Louis swirl his tongue around him.

“Oh, oh god,” Harry said, barely hearing himself over the soft, wet noises of Louis sucking him off and the definite sound of Louis jerking himself off under his boxers. Louis panted into Harry, sucking and licking and tonguing him, making him squirm.

Harry whimpered, feeling warmth coiling in his belly. Louis was so good, so gentle and smooth. His mouth felt sickly sweet, the soft noises contrasting with the scratchy burn of his beard. 

“So good. You’re so good, baby,” Louis pulled away for a second, looking up at Harry through his heavy lashes. Harry reached down to pull his hair, making soft “ Yeah, yeah, yeah ” noises when Louis resumed to suck him off.

“Gonna come,” Harry groaned. Louis reached up and squeezed Harry’s hand. 

“Oh,” Harry came suddenly, the dizzy feeling unfurling in his stomach and shooting out hot through his cock. Louis held himself up with one arm and pumped Harry through his orgasm. 

The two lay together once Harry came down, sweaty and panting. Louis tangled his legs up in Harry’s as he kissed him, holding each other’s faces and breathing heavily into each other’s mouths.

“Lou-“ Harry breathed. He wasn’t sure how to ask, “Wanna touch you.”

Louis’ cock was heavy in his boxers; Harry wanted to help him get off. He wanted to return the favor. 

Louis looked at Harry, his eyes wild, “You don’t have to Harry. It’s okay-“ 

Harry shook his head frantically, curls falling into his face. “I want to-“ 

Louis nodded then, “Okay. Yeah, okay.” He leaned in and kissed Harry firmly against the lips, grasping a fistful of his hair.

As if he could sense Harry’s uneasiness, when he pulled away from the kiss, Louis lowered his boxers on his hips, letting himself spring free from the constraint. He took Harry’s hand and guided it down to his member, assuring him everything was okay. 

Harry’s afraid he’s going to do something wrong as he wraps his hand around Louis, watching as Louis’ face contorts and he squeezes his eyes shut. Harry tries to remember what Louis did to make him feel so good, so he gently slides his hand up and down Louis’ cock, watching Louis face for any indication or sign. 

Louis lets out a breathy sigh and tilts his head back. 

“Just like that Harry,” he moans. “Feels so good-“

So Harry continues, using swift motions until Louis is gasping out that he’s going to come. 

His skin was sweating and he looked incredibly beautiful as he came onto Harry’s hand, his arms shaking and his head tilted back as he groaned out Harry’s name.

“Was- was that-“ Harry’s voice is shaky and unsure, after a few moments, “was that alright?”

Louis lets out a breathy laugh and tilts his head forward, pressing his lips to Harry’s, kissing him firmly. 

“That was wonderful, Harry. You’re wonderful.”

Harry buries his face into Louis’ chest and bites back a smile. 

A loud buzzing noise is what finally interrupts the silence, causing Harry to jump. Louis phone lights up on the nightstand and before Louis can grab it, Harry notices the word ‘Dad’ pop up on the screen. Louis practically rolls over Harry in bed before grabbing his mobile. 

“Hello?” he answers, his voice an octave lower than normal. He tugs up his boxers as he stands. 

Harry can hear a booming voice on the other end of the line. “Louis! My boy! How are ya son?”

“Uh, hey,” Louis frantically pulls on his pair of sweats from the floor and holds his pointer finger up to Harry before hurrying out of the room. 

Harry stares in awe, painfully aware of the fact that he’s never seen Louis so flustered. He thinks back to the night of Louis and Liam’s party. In the midst of his drunken state, he vaguely recalls Zayn mentioning something about Louis and his father not getting along very well. Harry had forgotten all about it until now, leaving a sinking feeling in his stomach. All Louis ever did was listen and be there for Harry. Harry was so selfish to assume that everything was perfect in Louis’ life, but of course he had problems, too. Harry made a mental note to ask about things when he returned. 

Until then, Harry’s left by himself in Louis’ bed, surrounded by football posters and the credits of Grease still rolling on the television. 

When he flicks on Louis’ bedside lamp, he’s horrified to notice how messy the bedroom really is. Harry scrunches his nose at the dirty socks lying about and shakes his head. Harry thinks of two benefits to cleaning Louis’ room while he spoke on the phone with his dad. The obvious was that Louis would ideally be pleased with the results. But secretly, Harry also welcomed the opportunity for distraction. Even a moment of Harry being left alone with his thoughts was too much, so he needed to occupy himself. 

Harry gathers his own clothing off from the bed and gets dressed before analyzing the chaos around him and getting into gear. Harry collects all of the clothes laying on the ground into the hamper, not bothering to determine which ones were actually dirty or clean, (that’ll be the day that Harry sniffs one of Louis’ potentially dirty socks). Next he stacks the binders and books Louis has from school neatly into the corner of the room. He chuckles at the actual cobwebs hanging off from a couple of them. 

He finishes in under ten minutes. 

Louis still isn’t back. 

Harry sighs and ponders through Louis’ movie collection. It’s mostly old films, many of which Harry had on VCR growing up on his own shelf. Flicks like Mrs. Doubtfire and Forrest Gump make Harry smirk. 

Another fifteen minutes pass and Louis still isn’t back, so Harry decides to poke around the living room for a bit, maybe even take over the Netflix account. 

He hesitantly makes his way down the stairs, causing enough noise so that Louis won’t think he’s snooping, but to Harry’s surprise, Louis isn’t in the living room. Harry turns the corner, Louis isn’t in the kitchen either. He frowns, but tries not to dwell on it. 

Harry watches two full episodes of Friends before the front doorknob jiggles and Louis pushes his way through, his iPhone clutched tightly in his hand. 

Harry snaps his head around, peering over the back of the couch. The first thing Harry notices is that Louis’ hair is sticking up in all directions, almost like he’s been pulling at it. Then Harry sees the hint of red around his eyes, like he’s been crying. Harry’s heart sinks. 

Never, not once, since Harry had known Louis had he seen him cry. Louis had held Harry through earth shattering sobs, numerous breakdowns, and never shed a tear himself. Harry just assumed he was immune, so strong nothing could make him cry. This of course, was naive and ignorant. Of course Louis had feelings and hardships. Harry sunk deeper into the couch, watching Louis idly as he toes off his shoes at the door, waiting for him to cry or scream or yell or do something. 

“Didn’t think you’d still be up,” he murmurs gently, gliding across the room and sitting down closely next to Harry. He wraps his arm around him instinctively, his fingertips brushes along Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry looks up at him dumbly for a moment, wondering why Louis appeared so eerily calm. Then of course he realized he should probably respond. He clears his throat and looks over to the screen where another episode was beginning. 

“I wanted to wait up for you.”

Louis nods and stares straight ahead as the intro starts playing. 

Harry melts further into the couch, biting his lip and deciding whether or not he should pry. 

“Lou?” he says unsurely, pausing the TV. 

“Hm?” Louis hums, looking faintly down at Harry’s concerned gaze. 

“Is everything okay?”

Louis smiles softly and leans forward to plant a soft kiss to Harry’s temple. “Everything’s fine love, you don’t need to be worrying about me.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows as Louis goes back to watching the television. He argues back, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t worry about you?” 

The words slip out quicker than he can filter them. As soon as they’re said Harry fights the urge to start grasping at the air, desperate to shove them back down his throat before they reach Louis’ ears. But it’s no use. 

Louis slowly turns his head, a devilish smirk spreading across his face. 

“Harry Styles, did you just use the ‘b’ word?” 

Harry’s eyes widen, he wishes he could disappear on the spot. Blood rushes to his cheeks, no doubt they’re a lovely shade of crimson right about now. 

“I didn’t mean to- I mean it’s okay… it’s okay if you… if you don’t want to-“ He bites his lip and waits for Louis to shoot him down. 

Louis’ smirk softens into a gentle smile, “Calm down, Haz. Breathe.” Louis chuckles, “I sucked you off earlier, do you think I would’ve done that if I didn’t want to be your boyfriend?”

Harry’s face immediately relaxes and he let’s out a nervous laugh. 

Louis pulls him closer into his side and kisses his cheek. “Boyfriend.” He states. 

“Boyfriend,” Harry repeats, this time the word feels much nicer rolling off his tongue. “So boyfriend,” Harry says nudging into Louis’ shoulder, “are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?”

Louis sighs and swings his arm from Harry’s shoulder and into his own lap instead, immediately fiddling with his fingernails. Harry watches as he picks at the cuticles, tearing skin and hangnails away. 

“It was my dad.“ he states. 

Harry nods. “I saw the caller ID,” he pauses. When Louis doesn’t elaborate Harry continues, “At your party, Zayn told me you and your dad don’t get along so well.”

Louis’ face noticeably stiffens. Harry wonders if he should back off a bit. 

“I mean, yeah. It is what it is.” Louis says vaguely, laughing as he pointed to the tattoo scrawled across his bare chest. 

Harry narrows his eyebrows. “You’re not used to talking about it, are you?”

Louis shakes his head. 

“We don’t have to. I get it, Lou. I don’t like to talk about stuff either. But- you…” Harry pauses as he tries to find the right words. “You were the first person I opened up to. About anything. And it felt… scary. It felt really scary, but it also felt freeing and beautiful. I’ve never trusted anyone like I trust you. And that doesn’t mean you have to trust me that much- I get that, but I’m here. If you do want to talk about it, I’m here.”

“I trust you, Harry,” Louis whispers. “God, of course I trust you. I just-“ Louis shakes his head all while staring at his lap. 

“You just what?” Harry prods. 

“My dad is… he’s just…” Louis bites his lip as he tries to find the right words. “My dad’s not a bad person. So I don’t want to tell you all this stuff and have you get the wrong impression. He’s just not entirely accepting of the fact that I’m gay. He has a hard time with it.”

Harry nods, listening intently. 

“Well, he ignores it really. That’s what we usually end up fighting about. There’s this girl- Eleanor’s her name,” Louis shakes his head, like he’s thinking intently, “you met her at my party?” Harry nods in affirmation. He remembers Eleanor. He also vaguely remembers spending the majority of the night jealous that she took Louis away from him. He tries not to think about that. Louis continues, “Anyways, my dad works for her dad at this uppity law firm in London, and he’s always saying what a great match we’d make. No matter how many times I tell him she’s not my type,” Louis smirks at his attempt of a joke, “he just doesn’t listen.”

Harry grimaces, “That must be frustrating.”

“I want to make him proud, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear me,” Louis sighs. 

After a few moments, he begins to chuckle softly. “Wanna know the worst part?”

Harry nods, eagerly leaning into Louis’ side. 

“The worst part is that lately, I haven’t even been correcting him. I just agree that me and El would be great together. I feel like I’m a fake. I just don’t don’t want to fight with him, you know?” He shakes his head, his voice breaking, as he lets his head drop, hair falling into his face. “Christ, I’m such a fucking coward.”

Harry’s unsure how to react. His obvious heartbreak and sorrow for the older boy beside him says he should console Louis, offer a warm embrace, shed tears with him. Harry thinks to all the helpful things that Louis has said to him since they met and tries to consider what Louis might say to him if the roles were reversed. 

“Lou,” Harry says sympathetically. He slides closer and wraps his arm around the smaller boy’s frame, offering comfort. “Receiving backlash… having my family not accept me,” he hesitates, “that’s my biggest fear. That’s why I’m so afraid to tell my mom and Gems that I’m gay. You’re not a coward. Louis, you’re so brave. You told him Lou, and it was his choice not to acknowledge that part of you. You can’t control that.” 

Louis sniffles and leans closer into Harry’s embrace. “I act brave,” he nods, wiping his snot with the sleeve of his sweater. “I act like I’m comfortable with who I am. But God, if I don’t wake up every single day wishing I could be straight, wishing I could like girls instead. Wishing I could be normal. I’m not brave, Harry. Not even close.”

Harry can’t help the smile that comes to his lips. He knows it’s inappropriate timing, but the wave of relief that washes over him is uncontrollable. 

“What?” Louis asks. 

“Sorry- I just-“ Harry struggles to find the right words as he wipes the smile away. “I just always felt so guilty for wishing I was straight. Like there was something wrong with me in addition to being gay,” he sighs, coming to a sudden realization, “I think it’s probably normal, don’t you?”

Louis gives Harry a questioning look. 

“You know, society in general, people we love- they don’t always accept us, so naturally we’d want to change,” Harry can feel a weight being lifted off his chest with each word he speaks. “It doesn’t mean we aren’t brave or proud of who we are, we just want to be accepted.”

Louis scrunches his eyebrows, like he’s thinking intently about what Harry’s said. He slowly starts to nod. 

“You’re smarter than you look, curly,” he winks. 

“Hey,” Harry exaggerates, nudging himself into Louis. They both laugh. Harry thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. 

 

________________

 

Three episodes of ‘Friends’ and two bags of popcorn later, and Harry is finally pleading to Louis that they go to bed. Harry was truly exhausted, his eyelids heavy and mind foggy. But he also felt disgusting with the amount of popcorn he’d consumed. He was worried that another episode might result in another bag of popcorn, which would result in Louis offering him another handful, which would result in Harry consuming buttery, fatty food that made his stomach bulge. 

He squirmed away when Louis poked his side teasingly as he made his way to the kitchen to drop the empty bowl in the sink. Louis interpreted it as playful, but secretly Harry couldn’t stand the thought of Louis touching his sides right now. Not with them protruding over his boxers like that. 

In an effort to resist the urge to purge, Harry’s mind traveled instead to his little realization in the living room earlier, and as he sees Louis’ eyelids start to close, he decides he better ask him the question that had been on his mind before he loses his courage. 

“Will you come home with me tomorrow so I can introduce you to my mom and Gemma?” 

Louis’ eyes open to a squint, “I’ve already met your mom, Harry,” he says with a hint of confusion in his voice, as if he’s worried Harry might have amnesia or something. 

“Will you come home with me tomorrow so I can introduce you to my mom and Gemma as my boyfriend?” Harry rephrases. 

Louis’ eyes open completely. 

“Are you sure, Haz?” 

Harry’s confidence starts to fade quickly, “You don’t have to- I just thought—“

“As if, Harry, shut up!” Louis exclaims, a hint of laughter behind his words. “Of course I’ll go. But are you sure you’re ready to come out to them?”

Harry sighs a breath of relief before nodding. “I’m sure.”

“Okay then,” Louis smiles. He drifts off shortly after. The last words he mutters before falling into a light snore are, “I can’t believe you cleaned my room.”

________________

 

Harry tries to fall asleep. He closes his eyes and does everything in his power to shut off his brain. He counts forwards to 100, he counts backwards from 100. But it’s no use. His stomach was full and uncomfortable and Harry was too painfully aware of Louis’ arm slung around his fat middle. 

He had to purge. 

Once he was confident that Louis wouldn’t wake up from his departure, Harry carefully removed his arm from around his body and slid down the bed. Harry made sure to close the door quietly behind him, just to be sure Louis wouldn’t hear his retching from the bedroom, before sneaking into the bathroom. 

Harry shut and locked the door then presumed to run the sink, again, just to be sure. The noise of the running water accompanied so many of Harry’s purges. There was once a time where that was all he needed to keep the voices in his head quiet. Running water would soothe him enough to block them out, and he’d leave the bathroom at peace. But that wasn’t the case anymore. Now the water only soundtracked his misery. 

As he knelt above the toilet, his pointer finger lingering between his two front teeth momentarily, Harry couldn’t help but feel a tremendous amount of guilt for what he was about to do. 

“No more secrets?” Louis had asked. 

Harry hated lying to Louis. He hated the fact that he was so open with him about everything except his eating habits. He could come clean, of course. He could tell Louis about his struggle with eating food and his poor self image. The benefits being there truly would be no more secrets. Louis would know it all. The good and the treacherously bad. The consequences would be that Harry would lose all sense of control he once had. No more cutting, no more purging. And the truth was, Harry needed this. He needed to be thin. 

This is for Louis, the voice in his head said suddenly. Harry bit down on his knuckle harshly, fighting back the conflicting tears falling down his cheek. This is to make you more attractive, more desirable, for Louis. The guilt slowly subsided. The voice was right. Louis wouldn’t love Harry if he was disgusting. 

It was all just the right amount of convincing that he needed to shove his finger further back in his mouth. He scratched the spot that always triggered his gag reflex, causing him to surge forward and vomit into the toilet. 

When he was finished, he cleaned up the toilet bowl and then splashed a bit of cold water on his face before snapping off the faucet. Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror as he used Louis’ hand towel to dry his face. He’d grown exceptionally pudgy in the last few days. All the eating he’d done at Louis’ house had done his round face absolutely no favors. He shook his head and tried to focus instead on how satisfyingly empty his stomach felt as he made his way back to Louis’ bedroom. 

The boy was in the same position that Harry had left him in. His head was completely off the pillow, his mouth open slightly, and a light snore escaping his lips. Harry smiled adoringly at how beautiful he looked in that state. 

Harry snuck right back to the spot he was before, gently lifting Louis’ arm and allowing it to fall across his middle. Louis sighed in satisfaction, almost as if he subconsciously missed Harry’s touch. Now that he wasn’t bulging and disgusting, Harry appreciated Louis’ arm coiled around him. It felt warm and comforting. And while his throat still burned, it was in a beautifully satisfying way. Harry knew it had been far too long since his last purge, and as he focused on the dull, fulfilling ache in his stomach, he realized how much he needed this, even if it meant lying to Louis for a bit longer.


End file.
